Who We Truly Are
by ChelsieSouloftheAbbey
Summary: Sparked from an old OTP prompt and a conversation with YellowBrickRoad! Starts angsty and introspective before progressing into friendship, hope, and love, answering the question of what truly makes us FAMILY. Starts after S4 ending, goes AU. Most major cast members make an appearance at some point.
1. A Shock

**A/N: This is an angst-ridden start - don't shoot me.**

 **Undying gratitude for beta work by silhouettedswallow.**

 **This one is ... going to be interesting. Here you go, theladychelsieofdownton! Part one.**

 **If you like a music selection, "Say Something" works for the first five chapters of this fic.**

 **xx**

 **CSotA**

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The sound of the ringing telephone floated down the corridor to Elsie Hughes's ears, but she was so focused on her receipts – balanced figures being her forte, of course – that she didn't pay it much attention. There was too much work to finish up before the family returned from London; her girls had already been dispatched to do a last-minute dusting of the library and the family's bedrooms and to open the windows and let in the fresh air. She knew the footmen would be at the ready when the cars pulled up with a seemingly endless amount of luggage. She was looking forward to seeing Mr. Carson, of course, and to catching up on anything interesting that had happened in London since her own return last week. She had appreciated the rare opportunity to spend the Season with the family – with _him_ – and the trip to the beach had capped off a wonderful Season in a way that was, well … _glorious_ , really.

Making her final scratchings in the ledger – _DONE!_ – she turned her thoughts to the day ahead: the directions that would need to be given, the standing at attention as the family cars pulled up in front of the Abbey, and, God willing, the wine that would be had that evening in the butler's pantry. She'd only a few more hours to go before the return to normalcy – or what passed for it at Downton, at any rate; Mr. Barrow's voice placing another call didn't register until she was halfway up the servants' stairs. _Who could he be telephoning if the family were already preparing to leave London?_

oOoOoOoOoOo

Mr. Barrow cradled the receiver and headed off to find Mr. Branson in order to deliver the shocking news. It wasn't a task he was particularly looking forward to, he realized. It was one thing to keep the staff on the back foot, and he certainly couldn't wait for old Carson to _retire_ , but this wasn't something that even Thomas would have hoped for. One thought kept pushing itself to the forefront of his mind: telling Mr. Branson would be difficult, but it would be leagues better than telling _her_. Perhaps luck would be on his side and she'd just figure it out telepathically, the way she always seemed to learn about what was happening in the Abbey. _No,_ he thought, _you've never been that lucky, Thomas._

oOoOoOoOoO

After checking that the bedrooms were all satisfactory, Elsie headed across the great hall, intent on checking the library. She almost fell as Tom Branson went flying past her, and she spared a moment to wonder if he'd even spotted her there at all. But when, seconds later, Mr. Branson dashed into the library, only to exit once again with Lady Mary now in tow … well, then she was outright _worried_. She watched as the two of them jumped into a waiting vehicle and drove away in a cloud of dust.

Somehow, she had a feeling that the family wouldn't be arriving this afternoon after all. Sighing, she turned abruptly back toward the door to servants' stairway, not even remotely startled to see Mr. Barrow pass through it, heading directly for her, his ashen face telling her that something awful had happened. She read something in his eyes and reached out for the side table, suddenly needing to hold herself up as a sneaking suspicion of what was to come filtered through her mind.

oOoOoOoOoOo

The family returned just before tea the following afternoon, although to Elsie it seemed as if it had been weeks since she'd seen the estate manager and eldest Grantham daughter tear away from the house at breakneck speed. She didn't think she'd ever forget that sight as long as she lived, but it was truly her conversation with Mr. Barrow, the words of which were packed with the all of the facts that they _didn't_ have, that had been the beginning of her undoing.

"Milord, Milady, welcome home," Mr. Barrow uttered. Elsie stood by his side, unable to speak for fear of breaking down in front of the entire staff. _Not quite the entire staff though, is it?_ She simply nodded to Lord and Lady Grantham as they exited the automobile. To her credit, Lady Grantham found Elsie's eyes immediately, sending her a nod of her own and what appeared to be something of a sympathetic glance. Lady Mary and Tom Branson followed in the second car. Elsie heard a far-away voice directing the footmen to start gathering the valises from the back of the vehicles; it took seeing them react and hearing their responses for it to register that she'd been the one to give the order. She headed around the building at a quick clip, her heels clicking on the gravel and giving off a much-too-loud crunching sound. It was time to rally her feelings, rein in her emotions, and redirect her fears – time to take charge of not only her girls but his footmen and, heaven help her, Mr. Barrow. As the senior-most staff member for the foreseeable future, it would be up to her to see that everything happened flawlessly in Mr. Carson's absence. One thing was certain: he wouldn't be returning to the Abbey for quite a while, and that thought alone would nearly override all the reassurances she'd receive in the upcoming days, from those both upstairs and down.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Their cases unpacked, the family had chosen to take trays in their rooms instead of having the staff serve a formal dinner. After she'd finished eating, Cora sent for her housekeeper.

"I believe we have everything in hand, Milady," Elsie said, wishing fervently that she had more household business to discuss at that moment but knowing that wasn't the _real_ reason she'd been sent for anyhow.

"Very good, Mrs. Hughes." Cora paused a moment as she considered the woman who stood before her, then continued, "His Lordship and I will be heading back to London tomorrow afternoon to see if we can get any actual _information_. We'll inform you as soon as possible if there is anything at all that's new. I'm sure the staff are all terribly worried about Mr. Carson … as are we," Cora said.

"I appreciate that, Milady."

"Such a tragedy," Cora continued, her words arriving in a hush to Elsie's ears. "All of those people, headed home or on holiday, not knowing what was in store …" Her voice died away, a fact for which Elsie was eternally grateful.

"Yes," the housekeeper said in a barely-controlled voice. "Will there be anything else for the moment, Milady?"

Cora looked up, the housekeeper's voice having snapped her out of her own memories, her own nightmares, and gave a sad smile. "No, Mrs. Hughes, thank you. I'll be sure to update you tomorrow as soon as we know anything concrete."

"Very good, Milady."

It was all Elsie could do not to bolt from the room, but years' worth of training in covering up emotion served her well. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her breath was coming in short spurts, and she recognized an unfamiliar feeling buried deep within, one that threatened to erupt out of her as soon as she let her guard down.

 _Terror._

oOoOoOoOoOo

The following afternoon, Robert and Cora rode silently the entire way to London, occasionally glancing at a newspaper or magazine, pretending as though they could concentrate on something other than the events that had recently transpired. Robert played that fateful telephone call from Mr. Barrow over and over in his mind, as if committing it to memory would in some way change the events that had taken place …

" _Your Lordship," came Mr. Barrow's voice over the phone. "There's been an accident."_

" _Barrow? What do you mean, 'there's been an accident?' At Downton?"_

" _No, Milord, a train accident. Mr. Carson's train …" He let the words hang for a moment, trying to form the next few sentences as succinctly as possible._

" _CARSON'S train? Oh, my God … but where? When? He's only just left a couple of hours ago …" his voice trailed off, the shock of the situation setting in._

" _The authorities just telephoned, Milord. The only information they could give me was to say that the train derailed just as it exited London. There were … fatalities, Milord, a great many of them. They saw Mr. Carson's name and address on his trunk tags as they were going through the cars, and they telephoned at once."_

" _So they didn't know if …" Robert couldn't even bear to finish the sentence, never realizing that his quiet, gasping voice was beginning to frighten his under-butler, the man who'd suddenly been thrust into a position of authority that he was not ready to assume._

" _No, Milord. But they said you could visit the hospital where the … survivors … are being brought. Presumably he was carrying something on his person in the way of identification should he, well, be unconscious. They think that someone there may be able to help you."_

" _Thank you, Barrow. I'll leave immediately. Please prepare the staff for a later arrival, tomorrow at the very earliest. Clearly the trains will not be running this evening. And, Barrow? Please inform Mr. Branson at once."_

" _Very good, Milord."_

As the train slowed down to approach the London station, Robert sent up a prayer of thanks that when he'd phoned the hospital after speaking with Barrow he'd at least been able to learn that Carson was, indeed, alive.

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 **Reviews welcome!**


	2. Carson's Request

**A/N: "Say Something" is my chosen musical accompaniment for the beginning of this story, for … well, reasons. It's on my Spotify account (ChelsieSouloftheAbbey) in the "Chelsie Potpourri" playlist, and it'll get us through the first five or so chapters.**

 **Thanks to silhouettedswallow for beta reading!**

 **Several reviews commented on the nature of the Carson/Hughes relationship in this story. This fic starts just after the CS of Season FOUR … so no proposal, no cottage that has been purchased. That's rather important, so I wanted to highlight it here.**

 **xx**

* * *

Cora slid her hand into Robert's as they climbed the steps to the hospital. _How could this have happened? We've traveled that train rail for YEARS without a hint of trouble!_ She was exhausted from all the travel, but Mary and Tom had both been needed back at Downton for business, and it was rather nice to sleep in her usual bed after months away. Somehow, Grantham House was just not _home_ , and Cora and Robert had both felt the need to be at Downton last night. They'd left Lady Rose and a skeleton staff at Grantham House in case, by some mistake, the hospital had phoned _there_ instead of to the Abbey. Despite her fatigue from the hours of back-and-forth travel, she knew it had been the right decision the moment she'd locked eyes with her housekeeper.

Robert squeezed his wife's hand and took a moment to gaze at her face. _My God … Carson. I can't believe this is happening, but thank goodness Cora is here to steady me_. He smiled and gave her a brief nod, which she returned, both realizing that the smiles didn't quite make it to their eyes. They each took a calming breath before finally entering the hospital doors.

Inside, the waiting area was a beehive of activity, staff running about so fast that it was hard for either Robert or Cora to grasp where, specifically, they should go. A break in the milling crowd showed a window with a nurse who looked every bit the matron-in-charge stationed behind it. They headed swiftly to that window, and the woman's eyes widened as she took in their bearing and state of dress.

"Yes? May I be of assistance?" the woman asked, clearly deferring to those of high station but unsure as to whom, precisely, she was speaking.

"If you could, please. I am the Earl of Grantham, and my butler was among the passengers on the train that derailed two days ago. The authorities telephoned to tell me about the accident and they said that, if he had survived, he'd be transported here. I telephoned that evening and was told that he _did_ survive and was indeed one of your patients, but that no further information would be available until today. His name is Charles Carson." Robert managed to get all of that out without rushing his words whatsoever, something about which he was quite proud. Another squeeze of support from Cora's hand, which uncharacteristically remained intertwined with his own despite them standing in so public a place, and he felt his strength rise a bit once again. That strength was coming sporadically and in small doses, to be sure, but it proved adequate for now.

"Yes, Milord, I will check on that for you. I do apologize, but only this main waiting area is available to you. We are a bit crammed for space at the moment," the woman said, her professional manner enabling her to bury her embarrassment at sending a Lord and Lady into the throngs of the general population to wait for news.

"We understand completely," Cora spoke up, an honest kindness in her voice. "I'm sure the past couple of days have been just awful for you all. We'll be just over there," she said, indicating some empty chairs on the other side of the room, "and thank you."

The matron nodded, turning away to see what she could find out. _Strange lot, that. What kind of Lord and Lady come in person to a public hospital to find out the condition of a staff member? Very odd, indeed._

Robert and Cora took seats in the far corner, her hand still unwilling to leave his for an instant.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"Lord Grantham, Lady Grantham? I am Dr. Gill. I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting so long. Would you come with me, please?"

"Yes, of course." Robert and Cora rose simultaneously. They'd been waiting almost three hours, Robert fidgeting and sitting in near-silence the entire time. He couldn't shake the feeling that it was like Matthew all over again, but without the joy of a newborn to offset the fear. In some ways, though, this fear was _worse_ , for despite the fact that he knew Carson was alive, Robert never did well with the unknown.

The sound of their footsteps barely echoed in the corridor despite the hard flooring and concrete walls; the place was teeming with activity. There were patients on gurneys everywhere, spilling out into the hallway in various states of agony. Nurses and doctors were seen flitting about with charts, tags, kind words, and worried glances. Robert and Cora looked nervously at one another, suddenly grasping the severity of the _entire_ situation: the massive amount of people that had come in, and the knowledge that this was but _one_ of the hospitals to which the wounded had been transported … and that those who'd died weren't even here at all.

Dr. Gill led them to a relatively clean office that was tucked away in the back of the hospital. Cora's eyes combed the room, taking in the sparseness of decoration, the family photograph on the desk. _He has children_ , she thought. _How lovely._ She shook her head, trying to focus on the matter at hand and finding it incredibly difficult to do so.

"Carson?" Robert uttered. "Clearly he is here, but howis he doing?"

"Lord Grantham, Lady Grantham, I'm afraid the news I have for you is not altogether good. Mr. Carson is, indeed, alive, but there are some … complications to his condition of which I must make you aware."

"Complications?" Cora whispered. "What sort of complications?" Her mind was racing, images and words about missing limbs, blindness, disfigurement, burns … all flashing through it the flick of a second.

"Mr. Carson appears to have amnesia," Dr. Gill stated. As he said the words, he saw the look of utter relief pass across the face of the woman before him, and the realization that was dawning in the eyes of her husband. _Ah, yes … the Earl of Grantham. He's seen a war … he understands._

Robert nodded. "I see," he said slowly. "And what is his prognosis?"

Dr. Gill took a deep breath. "Well, as I'm sure Your Lordship is aware, amnesia can be a tricky thing. It is common to experience a temporary loss of memory following any severe trauma. Mr. Carson was quite lucky in that the car he was in remained on the train track and the fire did not reach that far before everyone was evacuated; however, he was found unconscious in the main aisle of the car with a rather nasty gash in his head. He's got quite a concussion, and will be laid up for at least three more days here in hospital. But the most pressing issue at this time is the memory loss itself." The doctor paused, unsure of how to phrase the rest of it delicately. "Mr. Carson has no recollection of who he truly is. He knows his name, knows what year it is, and knows – of all things – the controlling party in Parliament."

Robert and Cora both smiled at that. "Yes, he would," said Robert with a chuckle.

"However," Dr. Gill continued, "he could not tell me how he is currently employed. He has no idea who the Earl of Grantham is. He's no idea how he came to be on that train, does not recognize that he lives in Downton – although he knows he's a Yorkshire man – and he asks that he be able to … well, as he's your butler, this is rather awkward …"

"He asks that he be able to _what_ , Doctor?" asked Cora.

The doctor looked Robert straight in the eyes, trying to draw on the man's sensibilities as a former soldier, as one who understands that memory _loss_ is a much less-severe thing than memory _rewriting_ , as it were.

"He is demanding to speak to his family. Specifically, he has requested to see his … daughter."

Suddenly a nurse rushed into the doctor's office. "Dr. Gill, you're needed immediately in Room 34."

He looked at Robert and Cora, not willing to believe the irony of the situation. "Please, remain here. That is the room to which Mr. Carson is currently assigned. I'll return as soon as I can."

The doctor ran out of the room, barely steps behind the nurse, as Robert reached out once again for Cora's hand, squeezing all of the feeling out of it in seconds.

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 **So yeah ... amnesia. Hmmm, gonna be interesting! Thanks for all your reviews and reblogs, they mean a lot to me and I enjoy reading and discussing all of your questions and comments. :)**


	3. A Delay

**A/N: WOW, you guys! I woke up to a TON of reviews! :) :) Thank you! I appreciate them all, from skeptics to psychics and everything in-between. Not everyone's going to like this story, but hey, what can you do?**

 **"A Delay" - aptly titled due to Carson's condition...**

 **Here's a bit more Cobert (mostly Robert) for you. Enjoy!**

 **xx**

 **CSotA**

* * *

Dr. Gill returned after about half an hour, a file in his hand, noting that Lord and Lady Grantham barely seemed to have moved an inch. He pitied them, truly, because he had no better information to share _now_ that what he'd already given them.

"That was Mr. Carson. He went into a bit of cardiac distress, but we've sedated him and would like to keep him under for at least the next 24 hours. Do you happen to know anything about his medical history?" asked the doctor, somehow suspecting that if any Lord and Lady in England would know details like that about their staff, it would be the two people sitting in front of him at that moment – the ones who'd come to see their butler in person instead of sending another staff member.

Robert and Cora looked at one another and, seeing the look on her husband's face, it was Cora who spoke. "He has a mild heart condition, Doctor. Several years ago he suffered a stress attack, not quite a heart attack, and had to cut back a bit on his physical activity at the house. That was during the war – everyone was short-staffed, of course – and he was doing the work of at least two men. But that's been under control, as far as I am aware. He did have a rather nasty bout with the Spanish Flu, also several years ago." She looked at Robert for confirmation, and he nodded.

"Yes," Robert added. "The man does hate to rest, and in the past I've actually forced him to take half-days as he tends to skip over them. But it's true that he's rarely ill. Dr. Richard Clarkson is our local doctor, he could give you much more information – he's at the Downton Cottage Hospital, of course."

Dr. Gill made a few notes in Carson's file. "And Mr. Carson's usual temperament? I realize he is your butler and, as such, you may not see much of his natural character, but anything you can tell me will be helpful at this point."

"Well," Robert started, "he's quite reserved when waiting on the family, as any accomplished butler would be. He's a fair man, and I think the staff respect him. He and our housekeeper have a good working relationship and they share the burden of overseeing the staff, of dealing with any issues that come up downstairs. I suppose the fact that my wife and I rarely have to intervene in any of that speaks to Carson's overall effectiveness, his general demeanor."

He paused for a moment, considering his next words. "Carson has been with me for years, Dr. Gill. He served as my valet and eventually became butler at Downton. He is dedicated, honest, and faithful, and he keeps his personal self well-protected due to the nature of his job. But I do know this: I've never known him to have any family outside of Downton except for his parents, and they've been gone for decades now. Other than a brief time spent pursuing a different path in London – which lasted just over a year – he's been with my family for about forty years."

Dr. Gill nodded. "He sounds like a valued employee."

"Carson is almost _family_ ," Cora said softly. "Our staff mean a great deal to us, of course, as they are much of the reason why Downton remains a house of great standing, but Carson is ... special. He became butler shortly before our daughters were born, and he's almost like an uncle to them. He's seen us through war and tragedy and … well, he's seen us through quite a lot, really. We'll do anything we can to help his recovery and healing, and we will gladly pay for whatever is needed." She reached out and squeezed Robert's hand once again, not caring whether or not it was proper in that moment for her to need a bit of reassurance. She was managing to keep her emotions in check for the moment, but that was not going to hold much longer if she kept dwelling on tragedy, and Robert knew it.

"May we see him?" Robert asked.

"I was hoping you would," replied the doctor. "As I said, he's sleeping and will be kept under for some time – days, perhaps, depending on how his heart acts. I believe that the amnesia frightened him, and it's crucial that we keep him calm at this point in time. But there are many who believe that a patient can hear and understand voices even when unconscious, and that they may even be helped along because of it. It certainly won't hurt to try, anyhow. If you'd like to follow me …?" The doctor stood and walked over to the door, opening it for the couple as they walked through and then moving up alongside them to show the way.

As they headed to Carson's room, Robert was taken aback by the low level of noise surrounding them despite all that was happening. Nurses were bustling about, tending to the ten patients crammed into a room that Robert thought might have been meant for only six or eight had a train crash not recently occurred; everyone was speaking in quiet tones, but there was a hum of activity and nerves that permeated the room, and it occurred to him that many of the staff must be functioning on next to no sleep. It brought back memories of when Downton was used as a makeshift recovery hospital during the war, memories that were not altogether warming. He took a moment to glance at the patients before them: from a young boy of about twelve, chatting animatedly with two adults that must be his parents, to a young woman weeping over someone on a corner cot, perhaps a husband or a brother, but clearly someone who had just died. No nurses could be spared to comfort her, and Robert was instantly made to think of his son-in-law, Tom, devastated beyond belief at the loss of their dear Sybil. He turned to Cora, his eyes repeating once again what his voice could not: _Thank God Carson is, at least, alive._

Robert moved a chair over to the side of Carson's bed, barely registering the presence of the nurse who stood by the bed, administering some sort of injection. He took in his butler's appearance, disheartened to see the pale skin tone and complete peacefulness of the usually robust man; it was so different from the stoic but professional quietness that Carson exuded when performing his job as butler. Robert sat rather heavily in the chair – uncharacteristically so, he realized – and tried his best to put forth a demeanor befitting of his station in life, but to no avail. Unnerved to hear the long but shallow breaths coming from Charles, Robert felt his own breath hitch in his throat as he became quite overcome once again by the seriousness of the entire situation. Whatever would they do if Carson didn't regain a sense of who he truly was? Robert would do all he could to provide for the man – cottage, job, whatever he needed – but something told him that, if Carson couldn't regain his memory of his own identity, he'd be hard-pressed to accept any gifts from a Lord who his mind no longer recognized.

Robert could hear Cora speaking in quiet tones with the doctor but, for the moment, he didn't care what they were saying. He said a few words to Carson, told him who he was and several other things that he'd be hard-pressed to remember five minutes into the future, hoping that the sound of his voice would rouse the butler from his deep slumber. His eyes moved around some more, taking in the whole scene around them. He glanced at nurse once again, who was recording something on the chart that was hanging from the frame of the cot, and thanked her quietly, feeling some strange desire to acknowledge that he realized the woman was trying to help, and that it mattered to him a great deal indeed. She was young with dark, brown hair and a caring smile that made him think once again of Sybil. Returning his gaze to Carson, Robert was struck again that he'd never seen the man so ill in all the years he'd known him, never seen him so … _frail_. Robert looked up as he felt Cora place her hand on his shoulder and squeeze gently, and he realized she'd stopped conversing with the doctor some time ago, that she'd been right there with her husband as he struggled to pull himself from his agonizing thoughts. It was only when she reached out to brush her fingertips across his cheek that he realized he'd been crying.

Dr. Gill was so touched by the scene unfolding in front of him that he was temporarily rendered speechless. He'd been a doctor for many years and had seen hundreds of patients cross through this hospital's doors, from near-royalty all the way down to women of the streets, but this was the only time he'd seen a Lord and Lady come in to personally see to the care of a servant, sit by his bedside, and shed tears over his condition. It gave the doctor a bit more faith in humanity; yes, this was truly a unique family, indeed and, by God, he'd do anything in his power to help them.

"Doctor," came Cora's quiet voice, "how many visitors will Carson be allowed, and do you have time restrictions?"

The doctor shook himself back into reality. "We try to limit visitors to two at a time, Lady Grantham. Mr. Carson is not one of our most critically-injured patients, and so you may visit whenever you'd like during our normal hours. If he's asleep, stay as long as you wish or are able to; if he's awake, I'd suggest limiting the _length_ of your visits to no more than one hour at a time. Nurses will be in 'round the clock to administer medication but, as you've just seen, they can do that regardless of whether or not there are visitors present. Will you be staying in London, may I ask?"

Cora looked at Robert, deferring to him for that decision. "Robert, what do you think?"

Robert looked at Cora. "I don't know what to do, darling," he said softly. He turned his gaze back to Carson's bed, then continued in a whisper, "At times, this man has been my only friend in the world. I am afraid, Cora, afraid to make a wrong decision. I don't want to upset him, to make him more confused or frustrated than he already undoubtedly is." He looked back at Cora once again, his eyes asking her to take the burden off of him, to take charge and come up with a plan as he was currently incapable of doing so. He did this without fear of judgement, knowing that she understood what he needed, and why.

Cora turned abruptly to face the doctor, suddenly remembering a conversation that had been interrupted. "Did you say he was asking for his _daughter_?"

Dr. Gill nodded. "Yes, but where you've said he has no family to speak of, I'm hoping that once he awakens he will be able to tell us a bit more about who, precisely, that is."

Cora smiled at her husband, attempting to put all the love she had for him into the look she was giving him. "Well, the way I see it, based upon the information we have, we've only got one choice, Robert." Seeing that Robert didn't grasp her meaning, she explained. "I'll stay at Grantham House for the time being, and you should return to Downton. I think Tom will need you there to help with the estate, so that we can send _Mary_ to come and visit with Carson. Who else could he have meant, after all?"

"Ah, of course," Robert said quietly. He turned back to Dr. Gill, who was trying desperately to grasp the meaning of the conversation. "Lady Mary Crawley, our eldest daughter. She's quite fond of Carson, and he of her. If he's asking for his 'daughter' then it's quite likely that, in his confused state, he's thinking of Mary." Robert was surprised to discover that, for once, it didn't pain him to think of Carson and Mary in those terms, that he didn't feel the jealousy that he'd often felt in the past when his daughter would seek out comfort in Carson's pantry rather than Robert's library.

The doctor nodded in understanding. "Yes, if she could visit either tomorrow or, better, the next day, that might help tremendously. It will give him some time to rest before we jar his senses once again. If we can get him to where he recognizes someone in your family and then sees how you're all related, how you're connected to him, he may make some progress on the road to discovering who he truly is."

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 **As always, please let me know what you think!**


	4. Mary Visits

**A/N: Thanks to silhouettedswallow for the beta! :)**

 **I'm BLOWN AWAY by the reviews for this story - thank you, and please continue to send me your thoughts! This chapter, as always, answers some questions but asks others.**

 **I'm almost out of already-written parts, so after the next chapter or two post, this won't be updated daily. But have no fear, I've got it all planned out and would never abandon it unfinished.**

 **xx**

 **CSotA**

* * *

Two days later, Mary was finally on a train bound for London. She'd been grateful to have been asked to wait the additional day, partly because of appointments she had with two of the tenant farmers but mostly because she wanted a chance to _speak_ to Carson and, presumably, her chances of finding him awake were better today. She also knew the staff were eagerly awaiting any news that she'd have to share, and she felt somewhat responsible for bringing good news back to the entire house. Anna had asked her to pass along everyone's well-wishes if Carson did, in fact, know who they even were. That thought alone clenched her heart, making her more fearful than ever that things would _not_ work out as she hoped. _If he knew who they even were … my God._

The news of his accident had horrified Mary, and the quick trip she and Tom had made immediately following the policeman's phone call had been a complete waste of time. She'd arrived that day frustrated and at her wits' end, only to be told there was no news. Upcoming meetings on the estate had meant that neither she nor Tom could stay at Grantham House more than that one night, and they'd made the return trip the next day, exhausted both mentally and physically. The story of Carson's amnesia only made her more wary upon her return this time around, and she spent most of the train ride hoping and praying that she would, in fact, be the 'daughter' whose presence he'd been requesting.

 _His daughter_. The fact was, there were so many moments during her lifetime when Mary felt that Carson _should_ have been her real father – times she had _wished_ for it, in fact. One thing was certain in her mind: for most of her life, he'd treated her with a kindness that she hadn't always deserved. Her memory turned to times when she was a young girl … smart as a whip and bored with the governess, she'd frequently stolen down to the butler's pantry, curled up in his chair, and waited for him to come in and find her. He'd never scolded her for being downstairs even though it was improper, never told her he was too busy, and never sent her back upstairs without a peppermint or two carefully tucked away in her pocket or palm, some warm cocoa in her belly, and his calming and reasonable words floating around in her young mind. Whether she'd been fighting with Edith, worrying about fulfilling her duty to marry well, or – more recently – needing support to get through the loss of her husband, Carson was just always _there_ for her and, sadly, she couldn't say that about Robert.

As the train came to a stop, Mary stood and placed her handbag over her arm. As a porter arrived to help her with her bag she sent a prayer up to Matthew and Sybil, asking for a miracle, desperately hoping that when she arrived at the hospital she would be able to help Carson come back to the world he'd left behind, a world full of people that missed him so very much already.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Charles opened his eyes slowly, vaguely aware of an annoying, sharp feeling in his arm. Turning his head he noticed that the dark-haired nurse was back again.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Carson. I hope you had a peaceful rest," she said with a smile. "I'm giving you a bit of hydration at the moment, but once you're feeling up to it we can get some broth for you."

He nodded, cringing at how awful his head felt. "Thank you," he said simply, his throat feeling as gravelly as his voice sounded. He wondered if the poor nurse had slept at all herself; she seemed to be the only one who ever administered his medication, and he was fairly sure that he was on a strict regimen at the moment.

 _Train wreck_ , he remembered. Except that was the point: he _didn't_ remember – they'd had to tell him about it. He started replaying the things he did know just now: in hospital, Dr. Gill was his doctor, his head was throbbing, his name was Charles Carson … He knew he'd asked for his daughter, but she'd not shown up yet. He then recalled that someone was coming today who the doctor thought _might_ be his daughter. _Ah, yes … excellent_. He had a most uncanny feeling of missing his family without being able to picture who any of them actually _were_ , and it was unnerving him.

 _Deep breaths,_ he told himself. _The doctor said to take deep, calming breaths._ Charles realized he'd had a bit of an episode the other day and had needed to be sedated. When he'd come out of it, the doctor had encouraged him to try and maintain his calm as much as possible. He'd told Charles that his employers had been to visit, had filled in some of his medical history, but Charles was still frustrated at having no clue who they were. They weren't his family, he was quite sure of that, but up until today he'd not laid eyes on any of his visitors. Today would be the true test, and he knew the young lady was due to arrive soon.

Just then, he heard a woman's heeled shoes clicking down the hall, the sound accompanied by the doctor's voice. "Just in here, Milady," he heard. _Milady? Now who is THIS?_

Charles made to sit up in the bed, and a nurse rushed to his side to move his pillows and adjust the bedframe to make him more comfortable. As he settled back against the rearranged support his eyes met those of his visitor: a tall and slender woman, perhaps thirty years of age, give or take, with an absolutely regal look about her. He had a niggling feeling in his mind that she looked less … _cold_ … than he'd expected upon hearing the 'Milady' uttered by the doctor; at the moment, her face was full of soft kindness.

"Oh, Carson," she whispered, taking a seat in the chair by his bed. "I am so very glad to find you awake and alert." The relief she felt was evident in her face, and she reached out to lay her hand atop his.

"Thank you," he answered, staring rather rudely at her face as he tried desperately to bring to mind who this woman was.

"I'm Mary Crawley, Carson … do you remember knowing me?"

Charles tried valiantly to remember who she was. He did find something familiar about her voice, and had noted the difference in its tone when she spoke to him as opposed to the doctor, as though she were more _herself_ in the chair by the bed than she had been prior to sitting down.

"I'm sorry, Milady. I feel that I _should_ know who you are, but I am afraid that I do not remember." He shook his head, his frustration evident, and he could sense her disappointment immediately. "Not yet, anyhow," he added, feeling a distant desire to comfort her.

"It's alright, Carson," she said softly. "Papa wasn't sure you would, and I was prepared for that. But please know that we are all here for you, for however long it takes. I plan to stay in London temporarily, and the next time I visit perhaps I'll bring some photographs along with me."

He nodded, unsure of what to say. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to see her face in his mind's eye, but to no avail.

"I am truly sorry," he apologized again. "Perhaps tomorrow."

"Perhaps," she replied, gathering her handbag and standing. "I do not wish to tire you out, and I know that you'll have other visitors in the days ahead. Please know we're all rooting for you, Carson. If there is anything you think might help, please just ask someone to be in touch with us."

Charles nodded. "Thank you, Milady. I'm afraid I'm at a loss as to what to say to anyone just now."

She smiled at him and, as she turned away, she caught his whisper, "If only they'd been able to find my real daughter ..."

The words were like a dagger to her heart, and she exited the ward swiftly before her emotions completely overcame her at last.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Over the next two days, Charles slept fitfully. He'd been told he'd had more visitors, and he thought he could recall snippets of conversation from the times when he'd been asleep …

" … _whatever will we do, Papa? …"_

" _I'm not sure, Edith … I'm just not sure."_

" _Carson? Can you hear me? Please, Carson, try to remember. TRY … just say SOMETHING that will help us … to help YOU …"_

" _Perhaps we need a doctor who knows what he's actually DOING to see to this … situation …"_

" _Mama, no … Dr. Gill is an esteemed physician in London … has called in the best specialist he could find … going to be a matter of time …"_

Carson was desperate to get to the bottom of all of the mystery floating around in his head. He knew the pain medication that they were giving him was inhibiting his ability to remain awake, but he wasn't willing to give it up just then. His entire body ached; in addition to a concussion he'd also sustained two cracked ribs from his fall.

Dr. Gill poked and prodded in Carson's mind with maddening frequency, questioning and searching with his gentle interrogation, and _finally, FINALLY,_ Carson remembered something else. Once the face appeared in his mind, he couldn't figure out why he'd not remembered it before.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Mary jumped as the telephone rang, its peal echoing throughout the downstairs of Grantham House. She was currently sitting at Carson's desk, jotting down a list full of things that were so bizarre she thought he'd surely remember one of them. Her mother and Rose had left the day before, feeling as though they'd only been in the way once Mary had arrived. Mary wished she hadn't felt the same, but she was really in no mood to share the house with anyone at the moment. A few telephone conversations with Tom had assured that her responsibilities at Downton were being taken care of, so she'd shipped Cora and Rose both home with a kiss on the cheek and a promise to phone as soon as she knew anything helpful.

Mary let one more ring sound, giving herself a chance to steady her voice, and answered the phone. The conversation was brief, and was perhaps one of the oddest ones she'd ever had in her life. _Oh, he cannot be serious?_ Sighing, she thanked the voice at the other end of the line, ended that call, and placed another.

"Mr. Barrow, please find Lady Grantham and put her on the line at once."

"Yes, Milady, right away …"

"Mary? Whatever has happened? Is it Carson?"

"Oh, Mama," Mary sighed, "I think you need to send Mrs. Hughes."

" _Mrs. Hughes?_ But why? Oh, Mary … does Carson remember her? I mean, if he does that's _wonderful_ , of course, but …"

"Mama," Mary cut her off. "Dr. Gill just telephoned. They've been working with Carson a great deal today, trying all sorts of mind association things with him. He finally got fed up with it, evidently, tired of no one knowing who his daughter was."

"And …? Mary, what does this have to do with Mrs. Hughes?" Cora asked, suddenly fearful of what the answer would be.

"Well," sighed Mary, "he told the doctor that perhaps if no one could figure out who his _daughter_ is, they should ask …"

Cora closed her eyes and nodded. "Let me guess," she said, the absurdity and tragedy of the entire situation hitting her once again, "his _wife_?"

"Precisely, and who else could he possibly have meant, Mama? Please, just have her pack a bag and get herself here as soon as you can spare her. Every hour we lose …" She couldn't finish the thought, and didn't want to distress her mother even further, but the doctor had been quite clear: if there were many more days like they'd just had, days where no progress was being made, then it was quite possible that Carson would remain forever lost to them all.

"Of course. I'll telephone as soon as she's on the train. Chin up, Mary. If anyone can get to the bottom of that man's mind, it's sure to be Mrs. Hughes."

* * *

 **Here's to aussiegirl41 who saw THAT coming a mile away! ;)**


	5. Elsie's Arrival

**A/N: I'm sorry, I'm not sure if chapter will answer much. I also apologize that, starting perhaps tomorrow, the chapters will not be posted daily due to a variety of things but mostly my inability to write the rest as quickly as I wrote this first bit. Undying thanks to silhouettedswallow who steadfastly beta's this story and keeps me grounded in its progression, which will be invaluable in future chapters when things get a bit more ... well, involved. Trying to keep them under 2,500 but this one failed.**

 **This is the last chapter of the "Say Something" section, and we'll move on to a new musical accompaniment after it.**

 **THANK YOU - omg, overwhelming thanks - for the response to this story. I've never seen reviews come in so fast! I apologize if I did not get back to some of you, I was having trouble managing it on my tablet. Also, my theory for replying to Guests didn't work, so if you left a guest review rest assured that I did see them!**

 **Onward...xx**

 **CSotA**

* * *

Elsie boarded the train and watched from her seat as the doors were closed. She was vaguely aware of a man checking her ticket and moving on, but if anyone had asked her she'd never have been able to recall what he looked like. She had gotten the seat nearest to the exit, sparing a moment to wonder if that choice would prove to be a blessing or a curse if the train she was on were to suffer the same fate as Mr. Carson's had.

The countryside rolled by as the train carried her closer and closer to London. The entire voyage seemed to be overshadowed by an expansive feeling of gloomy gray, as though the sunny day meant nothing in the wake of all that had recently occurred. Elsie hadn't slept much these past days, overworked during the daytime and having fitful, frightful dreams when she finally made it to her bed at night. She was simultaneously looking forward to and dreading this voyage back to London: looking forward to having fewer responsibilities with no one at Grantham House except for Lady Mary, but dreading having to answer the unavoidable question that Mr. Carson had unknowingly thrust in her lap – _Can you help me remember who I am?_

And could she? It was such a loaded question, and she'd spent any free energy she'd been able to muster trying to sift through decades of information, trying to find the best solution, the best way to reach inside of his mind. It was a mind she knew intimately well, having had years to peer inside of it, having learned to hear its thoughts as clearly as she heard her own. They'd become a team over the years, the Lord and Lady of Downton's downstairs, much like a married couple. Elsie allowed a minute upturn of the corner of her mouth at that thought; oh, the irony. Her heart had soared at his request to send his wife (or, rather, at everyone's hope that he'd meant _her_ ), but she knew that thousands of other, bigger bits of his life than just the part she had played were gone to him; this accident had evidently wiped almost everything from his mind, however keen and sharp it had always been. _Bloody hell … it could be like starting all over again_.

She knew as she pondered the situation put before her that none of what she had wanted before would matter now, that almost nothing of the past they'd experienced at Downton would really come into play at all, and yet she had to find _something_ , some tidbit, some powerful experience with which to jog the great man's memory. She wondered if he were still as stubborn as she'd always known him to be, if he'd awaken from his experience with at least that bit of himself intact, and if that stubbornness would act as more of a blessing or a curse. For the thousandth time, she began sifting through memories of their lives together at Downton, looking for the one thing she'd felt sure would enable her to draw him out of this hazy amnesia. Pictures flipped and flitted as though she were watching a film inside of her head: the arrival of Matthew and Isobel Crawley, Master George's birth, losing Lady Sybil, the Titanic, the soldiers, Charles Grigg and Alice, Barrow and O'Brien, Mr. Bates landing in jail, Ethel Parks … they kept coming and coming, and she kept returning to two fairly recent things that she thought just might have shocked the man enough that, if pressed, he'd remember them, the two images that her mind plucked from the frenzy, setting them aside in a place of hope: paddling at the beach as they held one another's hand, and the time she'd been ill. The first had shocked him into something, well, _new_ , she thought, whereas the second had been hanging over them ever since it had occurred, the elephant that was forever residing in the room that was their friendship, their … _partnership_. And, if those didn't work, she had a store of other things to draw upon, although in all of the confusion of the last few days she was hesitant to do so.

The train arrived and, as it came to a stop, Elsie rose from her seat. She glanced out the window and almost fell right back down again – there, standing and awaiting her arrival, was none other than Lady Mary. Elsie wasn't sure what to make of her presence at the station. _Surely she could have just sent a car?_ It terrified her in a way, making her wonder if the young Lady was there to deliver awful news that, for some reason, couldn't wait. _There's only one way to find out._

"Milady?" Elsie had come up on Lady Mary from behind, the younger woman evidently thinking Elsie had been seated further up on the train.

"Oh, Mrs. Hughes, there you are. Thank you for coming so quickly."

"I didn't expect to see you here, Milady. Has there been a change in Mr. Carson's condition?" She wasn't sure how to phrase that all very nicely, and realized she really didn't care how Lady Mary took it, either. There was little love lost between the two women, what little regard they had for one another stemming directly from the other's care and concern toward Mr. Carson, Anna, Tom Branson, and Lady Sybil.

"No, unfortunately, but I wondered if you might prefer to head directly to the hospital instead of coming to the house first." Lady Mary managed a small smile, one which Elsie put together in her mind with what she knew was undoubtedly the fear behind the smiling face.

 _Yes, I would – just perhaps not with you._ Outwardly, Elsie smiled. "Thank you, Milady. Perhaps along the way you can fill me in on what, exactly, I'm walking into. Her Ladyship gave me as many details as possible, but conceded that she's not seen him recently enough to know precisely what to say."

The women headed to the waiting car, a porter placing Elsie's valise on the back as the chauffeur helped Lady Mary into the back seat. Elsie moved to sit in the front, but Lady Mary stopped her. "No, please, Mrs. Hughes – would you join me? It will be so much easier to hold a conversation."

Elsie paused, then nodded her agreement. "If you wish, Milady, then I'd be happy to. Just … perhaps we won't tell Mr. Carson about this when we see him." She gave the young woman a small smile, one which she was happy to see was returned in kind.

"I don't know, Mrs. Hughes. Perhaps it might be just the shock he needs!" Mary laughed, aware that she'd done precious little of that over the past week.

Smiling, Elsie replied, "Yes, well, perhaps we'll hold that one back for a bit yet, Milady."

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

Elsie found herself walking alongside Lady Mary down the bright hospital corridor, desperately hoping for a miracle. When they'd arrived they'd been told that Mr. Carson had taken a turn for the worse: his heart was acting up again, and they had sedated him; however, the sedative should have worn off hours ago, and yet he appeared to be unconscious still.

"Mrs. Hughes, would you mind terribly if I left you? There's no sense in both of us being here and I'm sure you'd like some time with him." She smiled kindly at the housekeeper. "Have you eaten?"

"Yes, Milady, thank you. Mrs. Patmore packed something for me to have on the train, and I've the leftover portion in my bag. I'll be quite alright for a while."

"Excellent. I'll head to the house and have your things brought up, and then I'll arrange for the cook to have a small dinner ready later on tonight. How does that sound?"

Elsie wasn't sure what to do with this newer, more familiar, _easier_ Lady Mary. "If you think it best, Milady, that would be most welcome, thank you," she said hesitantly. She figured that was the best way out: polite, short, and sweet. It was also the honest-to-God truth: she _would_ like some time alone with Mr. Carson, but there had been no proper way of asking, and she also knew she'd be famished when she finally arrived at Grantham House. She hadn't lied about Mrs. Patmore sending her with food, but she hadn't any left, either; she just didn't want Lady Mary returning early because she thought Elsie might be in need of a meal.

"Should you wish to return earlier, please just have someone telephone the house. But visitors are allowed for several more hours, and if he wakes _you_ may have a chance to make some progress if you're here."

"I will do that – thank you again, Milady. I have no real plan at the moment, I'm afraid. I suppose we'll have to wait and see what the rest of the afternoon brings."

"Very good, Mrs. Hughes." The young woman reached out and squeezed the housekeeper's hand briefly, an act that surprised them both a little.

But Lady Mary wasn't quite done yet. If Elsie had thought her behavior surprising before, then astonishment could be the only word to describe what she felt the moment she saw the younger woman approach Mr. Carson, pick up his hand in hers, and squeeze it firmly before leaning over him and gently kissing the top of his head. She turned back to the housekeeper, who felt herself frozen to the floor and thoroughly unable to move, recognizing in the deepest recesses of her mind that as astonished as she was by what she had just witnessed, _jealous_ would also be an accurate descriptor.

"I leave him to you, Mrs. Hughes," Mary whispered, unable to hide the look on her face that said she'd failed him, somehow, and that it was killing her. "I wish you luck … I'm not sure what any of us would do without him, truly." She looked into the housekeeper's eyes as she said that last bit, and a feeling of mutual understanding passed between them: the woman who had fervently wished she'd been the correct 'daughter' had failed in _her_ attempt, but the one who might have the best chance of all at bringing back their beloved Mr. Carson was the woman who would have always given anything to be his _wife_.

"Thank you. I'll do my best, Milady."

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

Lady Mary left and Elsie approached Mr. Carson's bedside. She was no stranger to a hospital scene since the days when Downton had been converted into a convalescence home, and she found herself able to give a general assessment of his appearance in very few words: _not good._

She looked at his face, taking in his complexion, the way his color had sallowed after days of only consuming broth and other fluids. She smiled as she wondered if he'd demanded anything more substantial: a slice of apple tart came to mind, and she heard herself chuckle before she could stop the sound from escaping her mouth. Shaking her head, she moved the chair closer to his bedside, and tried to get as comfortable in it as possible.

For more years than she cared to count, the man before her had resided in a private part of Elsie's mind and heart. She knew every stray curl of his hair, every scar on his face and hands; she could visualize how he held his teacup, wineglass, or silver tray on those days when they'd been separated by the Season, days when she had longed for his presence. She knew how to read the varying inflections in his spoken tone and she knew the minute details of his myriad facial expressions; she was usually able to decipher his feelings by the color of his eyes and she could identify his stress level by his very posture.

Somewhere along the way, quite far back now, Elsie realized that she could use that information in order to keep the man operating at an even keel – and, by extension, the household at large. She wasn't sure if he was aware of her subtle influence, but she thought that he now had his suspicions … the day at the beach had truly been a significant point in their relationship, one where she'd led him into unknown depths, so to speak, and he'd have been a fool not to recognize it. Elsie also realized that it would be foolish not to acknowledge that perhaps _he_ knew _her_ just as well, although she was certainly aware that he was not as subtle of a plotter as she. She wondered fleetingly if that would change if ( _when_ ) he came back into his own mind again.

They'd spent well over twenty years as a unified front. Even before her promotion to housekeeper she'd worked with the man on occasion; the former housekeeper was not very keen on actually _working_ and Elsie had taken over some of her responsibilities soon after joining the staff, finding herself working more and more with the butler even though she was still (technically) only head housemaid. It had taken her forever to come to terms with it, but she now knew that she loved the man unconditionally, that she had for a great many years that she'd originally been willing to accept. Therefore, as she took her seat by his bedside, Elsie had no qualms about taking his hand in hers once again – not to steady him this time, no, but as an attempt to bring him back from the brink of wherever his mind was now. She felt as if they were _all_ standing on the precipice of something horrible, felt as though she'd been sent to do a seemingly impossible job, one of lifting the man she loved back out of the pit into which he seemed to be descending. With every day that he remained unaware, forgetting about Elsie and Lady Mary and everyone else under the roof of the great Downton Abbey, he was slipping further and further away from them all, and she couldn't bear it.

She found herself speaking to him, soft words of endearment that she wondered if (hoped that) he could hear. All of her previous planning and sifting through stories and memories had been cast out the window the instant she'd laid her eyes upon his resting figure. She simply started talking about everything, stories of their times together, from the moment they'd first met – stories no one else would remember anyhow, and thank goodness Lady Mary wasn't beside her to hear some of _those_! She reminisced about Sunday sermons, Servants' Balls, Christmases past, and sang him a song about a smoothing iron in her soft, melodious brogue.

As the afternoon wore on she acknowledged that her body was beginning to tire, and she started to pray. It had been years since she'd _truly_ prayed – since the time she'd feared she had cancer – and she spared a minute to regret not having prayed during all the good times she'd had, and wondered if that would render the pleas falling from her mouth now somehow less meaningful.

"Say something," she whispered to the man before her. "Just … wake up and say something to me, Mr. Carson. _Anything_ , anything to show me that I'm getting through to you."

But he only turned his head to face in her general direction, eyes closed, still lost in the deep slumber in which she'd found him, unresponsive but for that small movement.

"I'm not giving up on you, Charles Carson" she told him, squeezing his hand as her tears were released. "I never did before, and I'm _not_ starting today."

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

Charles felt as though he were floating through a warm, heady summer day. Everything before him was crisp, sharp, and brightly-colored. After a moment, he wondered how he could see it all so _clearly_ when his eyes seemed to be closed. His mind got lost in that conundrum for a moment, trying to analyze it before it could flit away from him.

 _Just go with it, Charlie_ , his inner voice told him.

 _Alright, then_ , he answered.

He took in every image that his inner eye was bringing to him, and was mildly shocked to find that his ears had picked up on a _sound_ as well, something quite far away, faint and delicate and hauntingly familiar. He looked around the vast field of green with infinite blades of grass, soft and vivid and fluttering in the breeze, and noticed an enormous building in the background. The building tried to draw him in but he pulled back, needing instead to locate the source of the beautiful sound ( _a voice?_ ) wanting desperately to identify what it was, to whom it belonged. He had a sensation of spinning around and around as he hovered just over the earth, losing his sense of direction before coming to an abrupt stop. He felt himself turn his head to listen more carefully, and suddenly he felt his heart sing its own reply.

 _It's HER. She's come for me, at long last._

He calmed instantly, focused on the direction from which the voice was coming, and headed in that direction.

 _She's just there, around the backside of the big building – a house?_ The great edifice made him pause again; it niggled at his mind, made him uncomfortable in a way he couldn't explain, as though there were something that resided inside that he didn't want to see, that he couldn't come to terms with. But the mysterious melody continued to call him like siren song; it was undeniable, a melody that reached inside of him and touched upon the essence of who he _was._ He felt himself letting go, bypassing the house altogether. He had the strange sensation that he was in the middle of some great struggle, a battle of wills where he was the prize, and he was unsure of whether or not he wanted to be a part of it anymore. His sole purpose had suddenly become finding the singer of the song, the voice behind the haunting words, aware that he was unable to imagine her face but knowing he would recognize its features once he found her, aware that he'd follow her anywhere, and that she had won him at last.

He took a long, shuddering breath and slipped into a deep, but restful, sleep.

* * *

 **What'd you think? Drop me a little note if you're so inclined. xx**


	6. Holding Hands

**A/N: Thanks to silhouettedswallow for awesome beta work; because of her, word order resembles something an actual adult wrote.**

 **We are out of "Say Something" territory, as Carson has, in fact, been saying things – and (*Spoiler Alert!*) shall say more by the end of this set of chapters.**

 **Song inspiration for these next few chapters is an oldie but goodie – "Pictures of You," by The Cure, and it's on my Spotify** _ **Chelsie Potpourri**_ **list.**

 **Enjoy! xx**

* * *

 _ **There was nothing in the world**_

 _ **That I ever wanted more**_

 _ **Than to never feel the breaking apart**_

 _ **Of my pictures of you …**_

* * *

Mary returned to the hospital just before eight. She'd had every intention of just sending a driver, but then she wondered if they'd allow him in to retrieve Mrs. Hughes should he arrive later than planned for some reason. She knew that was just an excuse because, deep down, she was so hoping to see Carson up and talking animatedly with the family's housekeeper, or at least awake enough to be saying _something_ to her. Hell, even awake and looking like he knew what in creation was going on would be fantastic.

But what she found was not what she expected, and it almost tore her heart in two - something odd, to be sure, but something which, at the same time, didn't surprise her at all; in a way, she'd always known – for there, laying sideways across part of Carson's bed, was Mrs. Hughes, her hand grasped firmly within his own.

Mary found herself both happy and intimidated by this little turn of events. _Not HER holding HIS hand_ , _but with her hand grasped in his. Did he wake, talk to her, REMEMBER her, and take her hand?_ Knowing that she hadn't really been what Carson thought of as a 'daughter' was bad enough, but seeing that this woman _was_ who he wanted by his side during his time of great distress was something else entirely. Of course, Mary harbored no inappropriate feelings toward the man, goodness no … but this was incontrovertible proof that she wasn't the only one allowed inside of his heart, either. Evidently, Carson had more space in there than she had realized, more room in which to accommodate _others_ who lived at Downton. She found the information … _unsettling, perhaps._

She approached the bed and reached out to the housekeeper, tapping her on the shoulder as she gently called her name. "Mrs. Hughes? Mrs. Hughes, please wake up – it's time to return to the house for the evening."

Elsie opened her eyes halfway, being pulled from a wonderful, lovely dream. "Lady Mary?" she asked, completely unsure of just where she was at the moment, just knowing that it wasn't where she'd been in her dreams. "Why are you here?"

 _Why, indeed,_ Mary thought with a smirk. But one look at the housekeeper's face, at the tear that was trailing down from the lashes, wiped all traces of amusement from Mary's expression. "Mrs. Hughes," she said quietly, "I've come to take you back to Grantham House. We've dinner waiting, after which I think you could use a good night's sleep in … a more _comfortable_ bed, perhaps?"

As Elsie finally realized where she was, she sat up abruptly and ripped her hand from Charles's own, sparing a moment to regret the slight chill that her fingers now felt. Her heart wrenched as he groaned, thrashed a bit in his sleep, and clamped his fingers together a couple of times, as if searching for the item that was now missing from their grasp. Bits of the odd dream she'd been having came flooding back, and she was happy to see him settle again almost instantly.

"Of course, Milady. I am sorry you had to find me like this. It was most … unexpected."

She stood up and saw a flash of something white by her hip; looking down, she saw it was a handkerchief, proffered by Lady Mary in a wordless show of sympathy. The gesture confused Elsie for a moment, until she felt a tear trickle down her cheek and realized she'd been weeping in her sleep.

"Thank you, Milady," she said, reaching for the handkerchief. _Well, this is rather embarrassing._ She looked up and was comforted by the uncharacteristic kindness in the younger woman's eyes. _Kindness, yes … and … understanding, perhaps._ It took Elsie by surprise, but she had neither the time nor the energy to dwell on it.

"Let's go home," Mary whispered, "and you can come back again tomorrow. I assume he woke, that you've spoken?"

Elsie's brow furrowed in confusion as her lip disappeared underneath her teeth. She struggled to remember what the true answer to that was, given her still-groggy state and the dream/reality confusion that still lingered.

She shook her head slowly. "No, I don't believe he did, but perhaps tomorrow."

"Yes, perhaps," the young Lady said sadly.

 _Then why on earth was he holding her hand?_

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

The car pulled up alongside Grantham House just as the sun had set. Elsie realized she'd never seen the house at night from this angle before, surrounded in near-darkness with its windows full of soft lights beckoning them to enter. She exited the car and nodded at Lady Mary, then turned to make her way to the servants' entrance.

"Oh, please, Mrs. Hughes – just come on in through the front door. We're the only two here save for the cook, one housemaid, and one footman, so there's no need to stand on ceremony."

Elsie didn't have the energy to argue with the woman even if she'd wanted to – which she didn't. "If you insist, Milady." _Let's not tell Mr. Carson about THIS bit, either_ , she thought, chuckling to herself.

"Another thing we can add to the 'things not to tell Carson' list, hm?" Mary asked.

"My thoughts exactly, Milady."

"Dinner will be served at nine – please do join me in the dining room."

 _Bloody hell._

"I'd be happy to do so, Milady," came Elsie's reply – really the only one she could give under the circumstances. She was here to be of assistance, to give what help she could in fixing this awful situation with Mr. Carson. She certainly didn't have any other duties the entire time she was to be at Grantham House, duties that could be an excuse for escape. There was no possible way she could turn down the invitation and, more importantly than everything else, she _did_ need to eat.

Elsie headed up to her quarters. Presumably, her bag had been brought up to her room earlier, and if she was to dine with Lady Mary she'd best change into her evening dress. She took a moment to glance at her disheveled appearance in the looking glass: hair slightly slipping from its bun, a few wrinkles to the blouse from when she'd fallen asleep …

 _Oh, God … I fell asleep on his bed. Well, then …_

As she undressed, Elsie began playing the footage of the dream back in her mind, examining it, looking for things that might be significant. As with all of her dreams, it was filled with cloudy, slowly-moving scenes that, upon waking, turned into faster-moving, less-detailed images. Sometimes, in the safety of her own room at Downton (to which she conveniently held the only key), she'd catalog _particular_ sorts of dreams – like the one from which she'd recently woken, a dream full of wonder, haze, and _him_ – in an old journal that was locked away in her small writing desk, getting them down before the images were lost forever over the course of the hours that would follow her waking. But she did not have that luxury this time around, and simply could not take the risk of committing this particular set of images to paper.

 _Oh, Lady Mary … why must you insist that I join you tonight?_ There was nothing to be done about it, but the last thing Elsie wanted or needed was to sit across from Lady Mary, being grilled on all of the things that had happened at the hospital, all of the things that Elsie had noticed and said and done that she didn't want to discuss _at all_. As she fastened the remainder of her buttons, and then pinned her hair in a more housekeeper-like, tight bun, she allowed her brain to select the particular items that she would allow Lady Mary to hear. There weren't many, but if they kept the woman at bay for the next couple of days they'd be good enough.

Elsie took one last look in the mirror, gave herself a sharp nod of confidence, and headed toward the door before stopping suddenly and turning to grab a handkerchief of her own. _Just in case. You've got it all sorted out, Els, but that woman is unpredictable at best._ She tucked the worn square of fabric into the pocket of her dress and made her way down to the family dining area, where, with any luck, Lady Mary would not yet be waiting.

* * *

 **Please drop me a line and let me know what you thought! Then, forge on ahead to Chapter 7!**


	7. A Mission

**A/N: Thanks again to silhouettedswallow for awesome beta work. (The plates are no longer taking note of the footman!) The song "Pictures of You" is on my Spotify "Chelsie Potpourri" playlist. (Username – ChelsieSouloftheAbbey)**

 ***Be sure you've seen chapter 6, as 6-8 are all getting posted within minutes of one another.***

 **Xx**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 _ **I've been looking so long at these pictures of you**_

 _ **That I almost believe that they're real**_

 _ **I've been living so long with my pictures of you**_

 _ **That I almost believe that the pictures**_

 _ **Are all I can feel …**_

* * *

Elsie approached the dining room door, stopping short just after passing through, the scene before her quite unexpected. "Milady?" she questioned uncertainly.

"Mrs. Hughes, please, join me," Mary said, not turning to face the woman, but rather indicating with a wave that Elsie was to join her where she stood at the head of the table. The chair that usually sat there, along with the four others closest to it, had been moved, making room to move about and access the items that were laid on the tabletop.

Elsie approached warily, seeing that "dinner" was going to be a rather odd affair. She spotted two plates at the opposite end of the table from where Lady Mary stood. A footman stood against the wall and Elsie gave him a nod by way of greeting.

"I do hope you don't mind … my little 'project' seems to have taken over the dining area." Mary backed up and motioned for Elsie to move closer, allowing her to examine the items more in detail. "Please, come and see."

 _Photographs,_ Elsie noted first. _So many photographs – oh, my,_ she thought, reaching out to pick one up, _that's the Dowager. How long ago was this taken?_ She returned the photograph to the pile, raking her eyes over other items … _newspaper clippings, a staff photo album, wine ledgers – oh, she went into his pantry to get those! – novels, a couple of small toys, and a few Christmas cards, trinkets_ … Elsie suspected that the younger woman had simply filled a box with the contents of the butler's pantry at Downton, taking anything and everything that she could think of to remind him of who he was. The other items must belong to the family, and several of the items seemed quite old indeed.

"What do you think? Is there any chance of it actually working?"

Elsie looked up, startled from her musings, and saw Lady Mary starting at her intently. "I am not sure," she admitted. "But perhaps."

"We should eat – you must be famished – and then perhaps you can help me select the items that we should bring along tomorrow."

 _We. Of course, she'll return with me._ "As you wish, Milady."

Dinner was comprised of some type of fish and vegetables – Elsie paid little attention to the meal, simply putting food in her mouth mechanically. She was thankful that the meal had all been plated together on one dish. Elsie was uncomfortable enough sitting at table with Lady Mary; she'd have had quite a difficult time indeed if she'd had to sit through a multi-course meal trying to make meaningful conversation the entire time.

They ate in relative silence, and Elsie took a moment to compliment the footman on his wine choice.

"Mr. Carson would be very proud of you, Steven," she told him. "This wine is an excellent accompaniment to the meal."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes – that means a lot to me," he replied, blushing from somewhere below his collar to the roots of his dark hair. "I spent some time with him over the summer trying to learn as much as I could. My granddad was a wine maker and I feel like it's in my blood – Mr. Carson seemed rather happy to learn that. I'd like to do my granddad proud."

Elsie nodded. "That's quite admirable, and something that Mr. Carson no doubt values very highly."

Steven nodded, returning to his place near wall as the women ate.

"Mrs. Hughes," Mary ventured after a few minutes, "I must admit I'm finding myself torn."

"Torn, Milady? How so?"

Mary looked guiltily at her plate, moving some food around with her fork but barely eating anything. "I feel like, if all this," she waved her hand over the multitude of items on the table, "doesn't work, there's no hope." She said the last bit so quietly that Elsie almost didn't hear her. Elsie took a moment or two before responding lest she lose the emotional control that she was just managing to maintain.

"Milady, we must not give up on Mr. Carson …" She looked down at her hands, which were now clasped so tightly around her fork and knife that her knuckles were white. "I promised," she finished in a whispered breath.

"We will always take care of him, of course," Mary forged on. "Allow him to live on the estate, in a cottage, find some other work for him if he cannot return to –"

"No!" Elsie said, much more sharply than she intended. She whipped her head up to meet Lady Mary's eyes, the intense, steely blue meeting the tired, slightly-overwhelmed and hopeless brown. "I am sorry, Milady, to have spoken in such a tone. But we must not think negatively … not yet, anyhow. Dr. Gill told me this afternoon to give Mr. Carson a couple of more days to show progress, that the time they kept him sedated may have confused him more or, at the very least, the family that have been in and out visiting may have been too much for him." She started niggling her lip … _How to say this delicately?_ "He believes that if just one or two of us go at a time, with photographs or other items such as you've gathered, it may be less stressful and, therefore, prove more beneficial than if we keep up a constant parade of family and friends heading by his bedside."

Mary sat back, motioning for Steven to remove her plate. She looked steadily at Mrs. Hughes, who returned her gaze unwaveringly. "Please, finish your meal, Mrs. Hughes. Don't mind me, I had a rather late luncheon."

Elsie did as she was asked, grateful for the light meal after the intensity of the day she'd just been through.

Mary's gaze wavered between watching her housekeeper eat and looking over the materials she'd brought from Carson's pantry. Reviewing the conversation in her head, she realized with a jolt that Mrs. Hughes had, through some conversation with Dr. Gill, seemingly taken control of how the next days should play out, that somehow _she_ was now leading this 'investigation.' Mary supposed that wasn't unusual, as the woman's entire job revolved around taking control: of maids, linens, Downton, even Grantham House … and, of course, _of the butler._ After another moment of deliberating, she came to a conclusion: Carson's well-being was more important that some silent power struggle amongst the two women.

"Mrs. Hughes," she said aloud, "I'd appreciate hearing more of how you feel we should proceed."

Elsie's breath caught a moment, and she reached for her wine and sipped it slowly as she formulated a response; in about a dozen words, Lady Mary had acknowledged that Elsie was the stronger woman in this situation, had tossed the ball in her court and had asked her opinion, almost as an equal. Of course, they weren't equals, and Elsie told herself that she'd do well not to forget that. Funnily, she could hear the reminder in _his_ voice inside of her head as opposed to her own.

"I think we should each select no more than, say, four items to bring – I will focus on staff-related things, and you should focus on the family. I would recommend we select items that we can discuss at great length should he ask questions about them, things about which we can offer many specific details." She paused, taking a deep breath, _here goes nothing, Elsie,_ and continued. "We can meet with him one at a time so as not to overwhelm him."

Mary listened intently, hearing again what the woman _didn't_ say – that she wanted time alone with Carson, and that she assumed Mary would as well, neither of which were incorrect assumptions.

"Very good," she answered, rising from her seat. "Let's do just that, and plan to leave just after breakfast."

Elsie nodded. She rose from her chair and headed to the other end of the table where she retrieved the two items she knew would be the most valuable ones she, herself, could pick: the staff photo album and the wine ledgers. She backed away from the table but, on second thought, returned and reached for one more item … the small, silver frame with Alice's photograph.

"A friend?" Mary enquired softly, ignoring the bitter feeling that came from Mrs. Hughes knowing the identity of this woman while she, who'd known Carson her whole life, did not.

Elsie nodded, a sad smile appearing on her face. "Yes, an old friend. It's possible that, if he doesn't have any memories of Downton, this will spark an entirely different set of them."

"Good idea," Mary admitted. She reached out and chose some items herself.

"Milady, if you'd be so good as to excuse me, I'm going to retire for the night. Thank you for inviting me to take dinner with you, and for putting together and sharing all of this."

"Of course. And, Mrs. Hughes? _Thank you._ "

Elsie closed her eyes and gave a brief nod, yet another acknowledgement that, at least this week, they were allies on a mission.

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

Elsie made her way to her room, clutching the books and frame to her chest as if she could somehow infuse all of _her_ memories of him into the items themselves, memories that would seep into his brain and free the chains that were holding it captive. She shook her head, uncomfortable with the feeling that, despite what had just happened in the dining room, she had absolutely _no control_ over the entire situation. It would be up to her to unlock his brain, she was sure of it, just as she'd always been sure of him, of _them_ , even when it had seemed completely hopeless. Robert and Violet Crawley had known him the longest, to be sure … but she knew him the _best_. The only question that remained was how much was _too much_ to share … _How much do you tell him, Elsie? How much do you tell THEM?_

She locked her bedroom door and deposited the items on the bed, knowing that she needed to get changed and washed and unpacked before her mind could be allowed to focus on the day ahead. Her evening ablutions taken care of, she hung her clothing in the tiny wardrobe, shaking her head at how soon she'd returned to the room she'd thought never again to inhabit. Mrs. Bute was well again, after all, and Elsie would no longer needed at Grantham House during the Season. She sighed, smiling at the happiness she'd felt these past few months, being able to share in all of the events surrounding Lady Rose's presentation, all of the business and busy-ness of the Season itself, of what London had offered. It had been a great many years since she'd set foot in the city, and she'd thoroughly enjoyed the opportunity.

Finally changed into her nightdress, hair smartly plaited, Elsie tucked herself into her bed and sat back against the headboard. She ignored the staff album for a moment, and pulled the wine ledger onto her lap. Opening the cover, she smiled fondly at the handwriting before her. His neat, perfect handwriting, carefully cataloguing and tallying inventory, with notes next to most entries that recorded his thoughts regarding taste, popularity with the family, even relationships with the merchants themselves. She allowed her fingertips to brush over the precise script, reading the words on the page and hearing them in his voice.

As she peered more closely at the notes, she noticed a pattern. She had suspected she would, but the confirmation was music to her mind: next to several of the wines, a small star, an asterisk, noting the wines he'd shared with _her_ over their evenings together, wines which she'd particularly enjoyed. She allowed herself to get lost in the memories of those nights, slipping off into yet another dreamland which would never be recorded on paper for anyone else to see.

* * *

 **Reviews? Pretty please? I love reading them all!**


	8. It's You

**A/N: The third of the three updates! Go back to CHAPTER 6 if you haven't read that or ch 7 yet ... or you'll be quite confused, I think, about a few details.**

" **Pictures of You" by The Cure. Great song. Go listen to it somewhere, like on my Spotify "Chelsie Potpourri" playlist, or even on YouTube. It's intense.**

 **xx,**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 ** _Looking so long at these pictures of you_**

 ** _But I never hold on to your heart_**

 ** _Looking so long for the words to be true_**

 ** _But always just breaking apart,_**

 ** _My pictures of you._**

* * *

Elsie woke just before dawn, barely able to move, her neck almost frozen in place.

 _Oh, honestly! You fell asleep sitting up, you foolish woman_ , she chided herself. Moving slowly, she forced her head into an upright position and massaged the back of her neck, then reached over to turn on the bedside lamp. Remembering she'd been looking through the wine ledger, she glanced down to verify that she'd not done it any harm in her sleep.

She was relieved to find its pages crisp and unblemished. She closed the book and rested it on her nightstand before pulling the staff album into her lap. Opening the front cover, Elsie slowly flipped through pages upon pages of photographs and names. Each page had a photograph, with the names and other information recorded below it. Every so often, smaller photos were added of certain staff: one appeared to be a cook and housekeeper, another a pair of ladies' maids, and their names were written directly below each photograph. But, for the most part, there was one solitary photo per year, going back decades. The staff would submit to the group photo just before the beginning of the Season, and the names and positions of each person photographed would be carefully inscribed by that year's housekeeper. Elsie glanced down at the date of the first photograph: _1892._

Flipping ahead, she stopped a few years later and saw herself as a head housemaid, standing stock still and looking rather proud to be part of the group. And she _had_ been proud to be standing there; she'd been quite lucky to have been hired at Downton, and she knew it. She flicked her eyes over toward Mr. Carson, remembering how he'd been a bit thinner then, how there had been an absence of silver from his hair, and seeing that look of pride that she always associated with him. She scanned the names of the other staff members, thinking of stories she could recount to him about each one if the need arose. _Yes,_ she thought, _we'll start with this one._

The sun was just beginning its ascent, light peeking in through her bedroom window. Elsie carefully laid the photo album and Alice's picture on top of the ledger, then made her way to the wardrobe to pull out clothing for the day. She was all too well aware of how stiff she felt, kicking herself for first falling asleep practically on top of Mr. Carson, and then allowing herself to fall asleep sitting up last night.

She then stopped for a moment, and realization dawned: _No other family are here except for Lady Mary, and she won't be up for hours! And I'm not expected to even WAIT on her!_

Elsie smiled as she realized she had more than enough time for a long, hot bath. She laid her outfit over her bed, wrapped her dressing gown around herself, and headed off to fill the tub.

An hour later, Elsie felt like a new woman, dressed and ready to do battle once again with Charles Carson's formidable mind.

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

Lady Mary climbed the steps to the hospital, Mrs. Hughes at her side. She took a moment to look at the housekeeper, noticing something different in her demeanor but unable to pick out precisely what it was. _Her hair, perhaps,_ Mary mused … _well, maybe not ONLY that …_ She shook her head, unable to figure it out. Mrs. Hughes turned to face her and she realized exactly what it was: _fear._ She'd never seen the woman look fearful in all the time they'd been acquainted, and she realized that the housekeeper's trepidation mirrored her own. She tentatively reached out for the woman's forearm and gave it a gentle squeeze. She noticed Mrs. Hughes startle at the motion, but then give a small smile and nod in return. Thus fortified, they passed through the hospital's doors.

"Lady Mary," the woman at the window greeted her, "welcome back." The matron looked past Mary and nodded to Elsie, who managed a relatively bright, "Good morning, Ma'am."

"Mr. Carson is awake this morning, Milady. Dr. Gill is expecting you both and asked me to send you directly back to Mr. Carson's room. Do you remember the way?"

"Yes," came Elsie's quick reply, and she noticed that Lady Mary seemed happy for it. Elsie wondered if it was her years in service that had enabled her mind to make quick sense of the rabbit's warren that was the hospital's halls, wondered if Lady Mary was perhaps lacking in that ability. _No matter,_ she thought, _we're on our way now._

Dr. Gill stopped them just outside of Carson's room. "Good morning," he greeted them. "I wondered if we might speak before you head on in?"

"Of course," Lady Mary replied. "Is everything alright?"

The doctor nodded. "Yes, actually, things seem remarkably improved this morning. Mr. Carson woke early and has made a great deal of progress in his recollection of who he is. He _remembers_ now that he is a butler, although most details of your family still remain a mystery to him. But we started asking questions related to his work, to people whom he may have encountered over his time at Downton Abbey, and he was quite easily able to answer most of them. He is worried that he is not currently able to work, but we tried to calm him and seem to have succeeded in convincing him that your family are quite happy for him to remain in hospital to be cared for as long as that's necessary."

"Quite right. May we go in to see him now?"

"Absolutely," replied the doctor, moving aside to allow the women in. Elsie didn't budge.

"Lady Mary, why don't you go first?" She wasn't sure how to say it out loud, but she wished to speak with the doctor – privately.

"If you're sure?" Mary answered. "Then, yes, thank you." She headed in, smiling at Carson and clutching the items she'd brought along in her hand.

"Carson, it's so good to see you looking so well," she told him warmly.

"Thank you, Milady," he answered. "Things are coming back to me rather quickly, but …"

"… but you do not yet recognize me." She swallowed, but wasn't deterred. "That's quite alright. I'm happy to hear from Dr. Gill that you're doing much better. You _do_ remember Downton now?"

"In bits and pieces, yes," he answered. "I can recall the Abbey itself, and many of the rooms, and I do now remember that I am your butler."

"Excellent." Mary placed her handbag on the bedside table and handed some items to Carson.

"I brought these along with me, to hopefully jog your memory even more. But you must tell me if it all becomes too much for you."

"Thank you," he replied, taking the items from her hands. "I shall."

As he moved his fingers across the first item – a photograph – something tickled his memory. He looked up at Mary, then back at the photograph, and returned his gaze once more to Mary's face. "Your grandmother, yes?" he asked, struggling. "… Violet? Lady Violet?"

Mary beamed. "Yes! Exactly … you've known her a number of years, Carson. How about the other two?" she asked with no small amount of trepidation.

Charles placed the photograph of Lady Violet aside and examined the other two items she'd handed him: another photograph, this one a bit smaller than the first, and a tiny stuffed animal. He turned them both over in his hands for a moment, the small dog almost dwarfed by his palm. He returned his gaze to hers, held it up, and asked hesitantly, "Is this yours, Milady? I feel as though it is."

She nodded. "And the photograph?" she asked in a whisper.

He shook his head, looking at the face that was looking back at him. A young man in a soldier's uniform – blond hair, _definitely not resembling this Lady Mary_ , he thought, _so likely not family_. He felt that the young man looked much too serious for the youth that the photograph portrayed, although the uniform did explain that away.

"No, I'm sorry … I cannot recall who this is." Then he returned his gaze to the little dog, and added, "I presume they go together somehow? In a way that I might recognize?"

"Yes," she replied softly, "but that's fine. Most would not recognize the connection, and we only spoke of it once." She reined in her emotions once again and reached into her handbag for her final selection, the bits she'd withheld from the rest thinking she may not even bother. "These are the last things I've brought, but I plan to bring more items next time if you're up to the task."

He nodded quickly. "Oh, please do, Milady. I feel more … _myself_ … today, looking at these, even though I can't get everything just yet." He held his hand out as he said it, and she dropped a few wrapped candies in his hand.

"Peppermints," he whispered softly. He looked up at her then, staring intently at her face in a way that made both of them slightly uncomfortable, and she saw the glimpse of recognition in his eyes only a half-second before he spoke. " _You_ like these. They're your favorites, aren't they?" he asked hesitantly, his eyes crinkling as his head tilted, his soft eyes still examining her.

"Yes," she said softly. "Yes, they are. And only _you_ would know that, Carson. So just because you can't quite remember me at the moment, the fact that you know that puts my mind at ease."

"Good," he said, patting her hand briefly before holding the candies out for her. "Then you should take these back, Milady."

Mary rose. "Excellent. Oh, Carson, it's so wonderful to see you returning to us at last!"

"Thank you. I'm sorry I can't recall _everything_ , I feel rather guilty about that," he said, looking down at his lap. "It's rather frustrating, I don't mind telling you."

"Please don't worry yourself. And as I am not your last visitor of the day, I will bid you good-bye for now. Have faith, Carson – you've come such a long way today."

"I will," he replied, his brow furrowed. "Who else is here?"

Just then, Mary turned and stepped aside as she heard Mrs. Hughes approach, the clip of the older woman's tentative steps getting louder as they approached the bedside. "Mr. Carson," she said softly, "you look very well!"

Mary watched Carson's face light up with joy and relief as he laid his eyes upon their housekeeper, then allowed her eyes to move between the two of them, feeling as each second passed that she was intruding on some intensely private moment once again.

"Elsie," he said reverently, reaching his hands out to take hers, keeping them mid-air until she deposited the basket she'd been carrying onto the floor so she could grasp them. "Oh, thank God."

Elsie was completely taken aback, seeing his eyes full of love and recognition – and an intense gaze of something else, something she wasn't sure she needed Lady Mary noticing _at all._

"Mr. Carson," she whispered, "oh, but you've not called me that in such a _very_ long time."

He looked puzzled for a moment, but shook his head as he lifted her hands to his lips and brushed them with a kiss. "Oh, Elsie, I am so glad they sent for you. If anyone can help me remember the rest, I know it's you."

Neither of them saw as Mary headed out the door, suddenly feeling horribly out of place. _Well, that's one thing sorted … the 'wife' has been found._

* * *

 **And … we're getting somewhere. Did any of you doubt me? :)**

 **So here's where I beg for reviews once more, as I have no shame. xx**


	9. A Plan

**A/N: Thanks once again to silhouettedswallow!**

 **Thank you to EVERYONE (especially Guest reviewers, to whom it would appear I cannot reply when I post those reviews) for reviews, reblogs, PM's, and more.**

 **I swear I've not abandoned "Music of Our Lives," as a couple folks wondered. I'm just kind of sucked into this one at the moment, but will try to get back there very soon!**

 **xx,**

 **CSotA**

* * *

Though they talked for hours, it seemed only minutes. Elsie worried at how excited Mr. Carson became as the morning progressed, but the nurse who stopped in sporadically to monitor his heart and medication didn't seem concerned; in fact, at one point the nurse commented that she was happy to see him on the mend.

"That's all due to this woman right here," he replied as he tapped the top of Elsie's hand. "I've been waiting ages for her to be able to come."

"Well, Mr. Carson," Elsie teased, "you weren't terribly specific with names." She looked down at the blanket on his bed then, fiddling with a loose thread, and whispered, "Everyone knows I'm not your wife."

"Yes, well," he said sadly, "I'm sorry for that."

Elsie's head shot up again, looking intently into his eyes. _Sorry for WHAT, s_ he wondered. _For the confusion … or for the fact that I'm not his wife?_

Before Charles could answer the question he'd seen in her eyes, Dr. Gill entered the room. "Mr. Carson, I hear you've continued to do well today," he said jovially. "I wondered if we could speak privately for a few moments before I go home for the afternoon."

"Anything you need to say can be said with Elsie present," Charles answered softly. "After all, I hope she'll be the one managing my care once I return to the Abbey." He looked tenderly at her, adding, "She always has."

Elsie felt herself blush from the bottom of her neck straight on up to the roots of her hair. "Mr. Carson," she started, "it's quite possible that the doctor wishes to speak to you of things of a relatively _delicate_ nature …"

"Oh, not at all, Mrs. Hughes," Dr. Gill responded, cutting her off. "No, I simply wish to speak to Mr. Carson about how his care will be managed once he's discharged from the hospital, which may well be in the next couple of days. Perhaps it _would_ be better for you to remain."

"Well, if you say so," Elsie agreed hesitantly, "then that's what we'll do." She gave them both a firm nod, meant to convince herself as much as them that she'd be up to the task. "What is the plan, Doctor?"

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

After listening to the doctor's suggestions (and offering a few ideas of her own), Elsie found Lady Mary sitting in the waiting room. As the young Lady looked up, Elsie smiled at her. "It appears that Mr. Carson will be returning to Downton in two days' time, barring any unforeseen complications. His pain is manageable without medication most of the time, and Dr. Gill doesn't seem to think he'll need _any_ medication after being discharged."

"That's wonderful news!" Mary exclaimed. "And his follow-up care? Surely he won't be able to resume his duties immediately."

"No," Elsie admitted, "but Dr. Gill feels that Mr. Carson will be faster to recover once he's in his own home, surrounded by everyone he knows. He will be unable to serve at table for at least a week following his return, as he's on lifting restrictions due to the rib fractures. Dr. Clarkson will, of course, resume as Mr. Carson's physician, and will need to clear him medically prior to allowing him to return to the full scope of his job. But Mr. Carson will be able to do the non-physical aspects of his job, the things such as bookkeeping and the managing of the male staff." She paused, then added, "I'm to help him reacclimatize himself to the more detailed aspects of his job, in any way that he feels is needed. Dr. Gill was quite insistent about that, about Mr. Carson not simply being 'thrown to the wolves,' as he put it."

Mary nodded hesitantly. The mysteries of how, precisely, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes managed the downstairs were a puzzle to her, as they were to most of the family, she reckoned, save perhaps for Tom Branson. "Of course. And youwill certainly let us know of anything that might make this entire transition easier, won't you?"

"That is my intention, Milady. I would like to return to Downton tomorrow, if it's possible, in order to meet with Her Ladyship and discuss the details of how the staffing schedules can be shifted to make this as easy a process as we can." _And to warn the staff about what they should expect, particularly Mr. Barrow._

"Excellent. I'll telephone as soon as we've arrived back at Grantham House."

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

Elsie stepped off the train and – once again – found a member of the family awaiting her arrival.

"Mr. Branson!" she exclaimed, genuinely happy to see him. "Oh, you didn't have to make a special trip to pick me up!"

"Nonsense, Mrs. Hughes, it's my pleasure. Besides," he added mischievously, "I'd like to be the first to get the 'scoop.'" He smiled broadly, and she knew that _he_ recognized her relief that Mr. Carson was, in fact, better and returning to his work.

"Well, I'm not sure how much I can tell you," she sighed. They headed toward the car and she began to fill him in on what she knew, explaining the restricted duties that would be required and the ins and outs of rearranging the staff's responsibilities somewhat in order to accommodate everything.

"It sounds as though you've thought of everything– which does _not_ surprise me one bit, Mrs. Hughes." He chuckled, then added, "We all know who _really_ runs that house, and it most certainly is not my mother-in-law." They reached the car, and Tom easily hefted Elsie's suitcase onto the back, tying it securely down, and looked at her with a boyish grin. "So … his _wife_ , hm?"

Elsie just shook her head and smirked, half embarrassed for his cheek and half grateful for it. _Oh, Mr. Branson,_ she thought fondly, _Lady Sybil certainly found a kindred spirit in you, bless her soul. Kind, honest, witty … and too forward at times!_ It was no secret that the downstairs staff still struggled with how to interact with this chauffeur-turned-family-member who was now an employee of the estate once again, but Elsie had seen something special in him since he'd arrived at the Abbey years ago. She'd seen an intelligent young man, a fiery spirit who longed for more than what life had thrust his way. She'd felt a connection to that, knowing that he personified all the courage and desire for a different life that she'd seen in herself years ago. She struggled at times to remember what that courage and desire had felt like, given that she'd spent the last two decades stuffing it all back inside of herself – back into some deep-down, hard-to-reach place – but spending time with Mr. Branson always brought it bubbling back to the surface again.

"Well, he's been rather confused," she managed, "but we're getting there."

Tom shut the door behind her and climbed into the driver's seat. "Yes, that confusion about the daughter … poor Mr. Carson," he mused. "Do you think the demands of the house will be too much for him at first? I can try to keep the family at bay as much as possible … well, except for the Dowager, I'm sure."

"Well, I'm to meet with Her Ladyship later on this afternoon, and hopefully we'll come up with a general idea of how to make it all happen. Mr. Carson is able to recall His Lordship and Her Ladyship, Lady Violet, and myself. I do believe that once he's back in his pantry, sat at his desk, his mind will become flooded with other bits and pieces. He remembers how to perform his job, though, which is a godsend." She paused, unsure if the familiarity of the conversation had stretched into an improper area, but then just went with her gut, with the feeling that Mr. Branson could be a conduit between upstairs and down – helping, perhaps, in a way that she could not.

"I don't mind telling you, Mr. Branson, that I'm a bit nervous about that first day back. The first time at the servants' hall table, presiding over a meal. The first time he realizes that Mr. Barrow has been filling his role quite admirably. In many ways, things will likely feel normal before long; but in other ways, I fear that it will be as though Mr. Carson is meeting us all for the first time." She paused again, biting furiously on her lip. "Being butler at Downton is his entire life. Whatever will happen if he returns and finds that, somehow, that's no longer true?"

Tom nodded his head and hummed thoughtfully. "One day at a time, Mrs. Hughes," he said softly. "The sooner we get started on getting things back to normal, the more comfortable everyone will be."

They rode the rest of the way to the Abbey in silence, each thinking how different the place would be if Mr. Carson did, indeed, return a changed man. Elsie reached into her handbag and grasped the item she'd secreted away the other night: a photograph of Mr. Carson, one taken years ago, that she'd found stuffed in the back cover of the staff album. It showed him in slight profile, as if he'd moved to speak to someone the moment the photograph had been taken. He had the beginnings of a smile on his face, and it was quite unlike any other photos that were in the book. She'd taken it without a second thought, had placed it in her bag swiftly. She held it now and then as though it were a talisman, one that represented her belief that Mr. Carson – _Charles_ – would fully return to them, to _her_ , at last.


	10. Welcome Home

**A/N: Well, here we go again. Thank you so much for reviews and reblogs, both here and on tumblr! Silhouettedswallow - hats off to you! Beta comments keep me entertained and educated, and it's like having my own Alistair Bruce. :)**

 **I wanted to address something one reviewer said, about how quickly Charles is progressing for an amnesia patient. I have NO medical background, and my only experience with amnesia is from a relative who suffered from it after being in a medically-induced coma while suffering from encephalitis. Her memory came back quite rapidly over the few days after she was brought around again, and it was quite a jumble for a bit. There are still bits that won't ever come back, and there are a few lingering things. I'm kind of making it up as I go, so hopefully that's okay. It's kind of an AU rabbit hole we've descended into, isn't it? :)**

 **Spotify - ChelsieSouloftheAbbey Chelsie Potpourri - "Pictures of You"**

 **xx - Enjoy!**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 ** _Remembering you_**

 ** _how you used to be ..._**

 ** _If only I'd thought of the right words,_**

 ** _I could have held on to your heart._**

* * *

Elsie took one last look at the staff who were lined up quite formally to welcome Mr. Carson back to Downton. Her girls, his men … ( _sigh_ ) She suspected that this type of welcome would only make Mr. Carson uncomfortable, and she knew that Mr. Barrow was positively _seething_ at the idea of standing at attention as though they were awaiting a Duke, but Lord and Lady Grantham would hear no protestations. And given that they'd paid the entire bill for Mr. Carson's hospital stay and recovery, in addition to the extra pay they'd given Anna and Thomas for assuming the housekeeper and butler's duties while she and Mr. Carson had been in London, there was really no room for discussion.

Elsie had tried her best to prepare Mr. Carson in the letter she'd asked Lady Grantham to deliver, tried to explain that he'd have to endure dozens of eyes upon him when he alighted from that car, and she tried to reassure him that it would only be this once. _But it won't,_ she reminded herself. _You lied to the man, Elsie, because it'll also be every time we're sat at the servants' table, and every time he's stood in the library or the drawing room with whisky or tea to serve. They'll be watching him now, always._

The sound of motors shook Elsie from her reverie, and she cleared her throat loudly to get Madge's attention after catching the girl fiddling with the frill on her cuff. Madge took note and resumed an air of steady attentiveness. Elsie reminded herself once again that Madge was young, and flighty, but that she was an excellent maid to Lady Edith. _Actually,_ thought Elsie, _we're quite lucky that it's been Madge attending Lady Edith … any other maid would have paid more attention these last few months._

The car door opened and Downton's butler stepped out slowly. Elsie looked with pride at how well he looked in his suit despite the weight he'd lost – no one but the two of them knew that she'd been up all night two evenings ago taking it in for him. She'd finished it up just in time to send it along with the Granthams when they returned to collect Mr. Carson from the hospital. Appearance was everything to Mr. Carson and, despite reassurances from the family that he'd be given every lenience there was upon his return, Elsie simply couldn't abide him returning home and looking as though he didn't fit the part of 'butler.' She just couldn't allow it, because it would make him miserable and that, in turn, would make them all miserable … particularly Elsie.

"Welcome back, Mr. Carson," sounded Mr. Barrow's voice. "It's wonderful to see you looking so well."

"Thank you," Charles answered with a nod. "It is good to be back." He walked over to the staff and faced the under butler. "Thank you for managing my duties while I've been ill, Mr. Barrow. I appreciate that very much."

 _So far, so good,_ Elsie thought. Just then, however, Charles turned to face her. He gave her the slightest nod and – _no, it couldn't be_ – a _wink?_

 _Oh, good heavens … this is going to be more difficult that I thought._

Elsie turned and led her girls toward the servants' entrance, putting some much-needed distance between herself and the butler, who now appeared to be conversing with Mr. Bates. _Good, that's good … Mr. Bates understands injury and trauma from his time in the war. He'll be patient, and he never says too much anyhow._ She took a deep breath to steel her nerves, and then began directing footmen to carry Mr. Carson's now beat-up trunk up to his room. She wondered where on earth Mr. Barrow had disappeared to, why it was _she_ who was still ordering the footmen around, but saw him chatting with His Lordship.

Elsie had given Mrs. Patmore very strict instructions to wish Mr. Carson a quiet 'welcome home' and then to leave the man in peace. Lady Mary had returned yesterday with Mr. Carson's things, and Elsie had replaced them exactly where they belonged only this morning. She'd had his pantry cleaned regularly while Mr. Barrow had been occupying it, but since the man had insisted upon using the room until after eleven the night before, she'd had precious little time to ensure that it would be up to Mr. Carson's standards. She'd managed, though, wondering briefly as she'd been polishing the desk if Mr. Carson even _cared_ about the tidiness of his pantry anymore. _Surely he does,_ she told herself.

But the fact was, Mr. Carson was … _different_ now. Elsie couldn't put her finger on it, but from the moment he'd greeted her with such overt affection at the hospital, she'd spotted it. He was more open, somehow; less buttoned-up, perhaps. Even Lady Mary had mentioned it.

"I don't know how to put it, Mrs. Hughes, but he's different. He was more _familiar_ with His Lordship – not that anyone in the family would begrudge his lack of formality while the poor man is laid up in hospital, of course." Lady Mary had appeared confused, and Elsie was concerned. The young woman was a shrewd observer when she wanted to be ( _when Lady Edith was not involved, anyhow_ ) and the fact that she had picked up on this change in Mr. Carson's demeanor meant that he – and, by association, Elsie – needed to be very, very careful in the near future, at least in front of the family. As she reflected on all of this she headed toward the butler's pantry, already recalculating how she was going to handle him these next few days.

Handle him. _Well,_ Elsie mused, _some things DON'T change._

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

"And the staff dinner will be at …?" Elsie prompted.

"Six," Charles answered quickly. "After which the gong is rung – by me – promptly at seven, with the family dinner being served at eight."

"Very good," she replied, nodding curtly. "And at that point you'll be doing …?"

He sighed. "Absolutely nothing, because the Dowager is dining here this evening and the dinner service will be quite formal." He almost pouted as he added, "And standards must be maintained, which means I shouldn't 'chance it' as you so eloquently put it to me earlier."

"Quite right," Elsie agreed. "But you are willing to serve the after-dinner brandy for His Lordship and …?"

"Mr. Branson," he supplied. "Elsie, I remember who they are. Well … upstairs, anyhow. _Finally._ "

Elise tilted her head and smiled fondly at him, knowing how immensely happy he'd been once all his memories of Lady Mary had come flooding back. _Finally, indeed._ She had found that she couldn't begrudge the tender relationship that he and Lady Mary shared, not now, because the joy on his face as he shared his remembrances with Elsie had warmed her heart. "Yes, you do."

"But suppertime is approaching, and I'm still not sure …" he trailed off.

"I'll walk in with you. Everyone will stand and, likely, welcome you back, and you'll wave for them to sit. Then we'll chat as usual, and you won't have too much to worry about. Who do you remember of the staff?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Bates – Anna, I know that … and Mr. Barrow."

"Alright then, that's fine for now. Mr. Molesley is away this evening as today was his half day, and Miss Baxter, Madge and Andy most likely won't address you directly if you're engaged in conversation with me."

"Good, because I can't quite recall who they are," he laughed. "Oh, this is truly more overwhelming than I'd expected." He thought for a minute, brow furrowed. "What happened to Miss O'Brien?" he asked.

Elsie's laughter echoed throughout the room. "Oh, Mr. Carson, have no fear – she left for India with Lady Rose's mother. Don't you remem- oh, my goodness, of course you don't. Pardon me, I don't know what I was thinking," she said, blushing suddenly and twisting her hands in her lap.

It was Charles's turn to laugh. "Have no fear, Elsie – I _didn't_ remember, but you've not offended me. I truly must thank you, for everything you're doing to help me."

"Mr. Carson," she began, but he cut her off.

"Elsie, when we're together – alone – why won't you call me Charlie?" He looked completely confused, and she shook her head.

"Ach, Mr. Carson … I've not called you that in many, many years, you daft man, and most _certainly_ not here! And you mustn't call me Elsie. At least, not here. It needs to be Mrs. Hughes, as _you_ rather harshly informed _me_ quite a few years ago … well, you'll remember all of that eventually, I think."

He looked deep into her eyes then, more suspicious than ever that his memories were tricking him into believing a great _many_ things that weren't, well, accurate.

"Perhaps, _Mrs. Hughes,_ " he murmured softly, reaching for her hand, "I don't wish to remember."


	11. Something There

**A/N: Song choice for this one is "Kathy's Song" because, well, it's raining ... and, you know, sweetness. It's on my "Chelsie Potpourri" Spotify playlist. Simon and Garfunkel – doesn't get much better than that.**

 **Thanks to silhouettedswallow who continues to find time in her busy life for my little fic. Xx**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 _ **I hear the drizzle of the rain,**_

 _ **Like a memory it falls**_

 _ **Soft and warm, continuing,**_

 _ **Tapping on my roof and walls.**_

 _ **And as I watch the drops of rain**_

 _ **Weave their weary paths and die,**_

 _ **I know that I am like the rain**_

 _ **There but for the grace of you go I.**_

* * *

 _"Elsie, when we're together – alone – why won't you call me Charlie?" He looked completely confused, and she shook her head._

 _"Ach, Mr. Carson … I've not called you that in many, many years, you daft man, and most certainly not here! And you mustn't call me Elsie. At least, not here. It needs to be Mrs. Hughes, as you rather harshly informed me quite a few years ago … well, you'll remember all of that eventually, I think."_

 _He looked deep into her eyes then, more suspicious than ever that his memories were tricking him into believing a great many things that weren't, well, accurate._

" _Perhaps, Mrs. Hughes," he murmured softly, reaching for her hand, "I don't wish to remember."_

* * *

Elsie looked up sharply, ripping her hand from his grasp. She bolted from her seat as though his touch had burned her skin, and fled to the other side of the room.

"Mr. Carson," she implored, "you must understand that there are _rules_ we need to uphold! Surely _you, of all people,_ respect that? This type of … familiarity … it's just not allowed."

Charles was utterly confused. "But … forgive me, Mrs. Hughes," he began, the name suddenly stinging her despite her insistence at its usage, "but are we not … well, _closer_ than most? You'll have to excuse me if I've been too familiar, or improper, but …" he shrugged, clearly frustrated at being unable to express himself clearly. "Wait, give me a moment."

"Mr. Carson," she sighed, "whatever you are trying to say should perhaps wait for another day."

He looked at her then, a look of sadness in his eyes that she'd rarely seen in all the years she'd known him. "But I _remember_ ... at least, I _think_ I do. It's just that there are gaps, spaces where I cannot put it all together. Dr. Clarkson was helping me with that, but now he seems to have gone off the idea. Perhaps he thinks it's for the best."

 _Or perhaps I asked him to stop,_ Elsie thought. _Which would never occur to you, you dear, sweet man. Oh, what a situation THIS is turning out to be._

Elsie sighed heavily, knowing how upset he was (and remembering the ever-present fear of causing undue stress to his heart), and figured she could alleviate a bit of his concern. "Perhaps you're pushing yourself too hard, Mr. Carson. It's only been a few days, and I know how anxious you are to return to your normal routine. Perhaps you should give your full attention to the house for the next couple of days. Then, once you're fully back on your feet, we can see about connecting some more memories, see if we can make more sense of it all, alright?"

He nodded slowly, avoiding her eyes. "Yes, perhaps that would be best," he said, rising from his seat. "And now, dinner?"

Elsie nodded, opening the door and exiting the room, with his solid presence behind her just as it always had been. As they entered the servants' hall the sound of scraping chairs echoed off the walls, but Mr. Carson waved his hand and indicated for them to be seated. Elsie smiled at the gesture, which seemed completely unchanged from the thousands of other times he'd given it. Looking at his face, she sensed the calm return, and knew he was back in his element … at least for now.

"I wish to thank you all for your kind words and for the support you've given, not only to myself but to Mr. Barrow, Mrs. Bates, and Mrs. Hughes. His Lordship informs me that things have been handled with the utmost care, which means a great deal to me. Now please, enjoy your dinner." With that, he and Elsie sat.

She shot him a sideways glance and the smallest of nods, which he returned immediately. As the dishes of food came around, he filled both his plate and hers as though he'd never left: her favorite cut of the meat, the more darkly-roasted potatoes, and a complete absence of the turnips as he knew she loathed the things. She thanked him quietly, and the rest of the meal passed in relative silence – a blessing for which she was grateful. They made small talk about an upcoming party, and she told him that the wine delivery would be arriving the next morning, as scheduled.

As the meal ended, Elsie stood and returned to her sitting room. She had a few accounts to go over before the evening was out, so she was slightly dismayed to hear Mr. Carson's footsteps following her. He knocked on her door, waiting until she called for him to enter.

"Mrs. Hughes, I can see you are busy, but I just wanted to thank you for your help earlier. I didn't wish to do so in front of the other staff, but … well, regardless of my strange circumstances, you've been a constant source of security for me, and I truly appreciate your help today. I do hope that you are willing to continue assisting me in my transition back, regardless of any unintended impropriety on my part."

She looked up at him, her heart virtually melting at the pleading look on his face. "Yes," she said softly, "you've nothing to worry about on that score. Just be mindful, Mr. Carson," she added, motioning with her eyes to the grate in her wall, "even the walls have ears sometimes."

He smiled broadly, remembering, and nodded.

"Now, go ring the gong."

He left, and as Elsie heard him shut the door lightly behind her she heaved a deep sigh of relief.

 _Day One – almost complete._ She cracked open her ledger, pulled the chain for her desk lamp, and began the tedious task of making sense of the week's accounts. Anna hadn't been assigned that particular task, and it was unlike Elsie to be behind. She shook her head and braced herself for a long evening.

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

Charles woke to a dark room and lay still for a moment, listening to the furious pounding of the rain on his window. His mind was hazy, grasping at pictures, things that he wasn't sure about … _was it a dream? Are they memories?_ He'd been asking himself the same thing for days now, every time he woke. He was getting better at sorting them, but some were still impossible to identify one way or the other.

He reached for his pocket watch, using the faint glow from the fireplace to read its face. _Half two … sigh._ He knew it would be quite a while before anyone else would be up, but he also knew that there would be no more sleep for him tonight. He sat up in bed and rubbed his hands over his face, ran his fingers through his hair, and swung his legs out from underneath the covers. He rose slowly, knowing now from the past week's experience that getting up too quickly might make him dizzy. He allowed his eyes to get accustomed to the soft light from the fire before walking to retrieve his dressing robe, slippers, and a lamp. He lit the wick and proceeded downstairs to the kitchen, feeling that a hot cup of tea would do wonders to clear his mind.

As he descended the stairs, he heard soft voices coming from the kitchen.

"Daisy, why are you up, girl? Go back to _bed!_ " came Elsie's voice.

"I will, Mrs. Hughes, honestly. I woke up suddenly and realized I'd left my book behind," the young woman said with a yawn. "I'm heading back up now. The stove should be hot enough for tea, if you need."

Elsie nodded. Daisy was quite familiar with Elsie's habit of rising in the middle of the night when storms passed through, and would kindly leave the kettle on the hob for her in the likely event that she wanted a cup of tea. "Thank you, Daisy."

Daisy headed back upstairs, almost walking face-first into Mr. Carson as he rounded the corner.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Carson!" she squeaked, scurrying back up the stairs.

"That's quite alright …" he started to say, but before he could even utter a sound she was already gone.

Charles continued to the kitchen. Elsie had evidently not heard his interaction with Daisy over the clatter of her teacup, spoon, saucer and tray. He stood just inside the doorway, watching her, Elsie completely oblivious to his presence. It was an odd occurrence for them, though its significance escaped Charles.

He watched her with a reverent gaze as she filled a small teapot with tea and then peeked into the large kettle. She seemed frustrated, shifting from one foot to the other as she waited for the water to boil, and he smiled softly at the sight of her plaited hair hanging down the center of her back, at the wisps that had escaped it and now curled the nape of her neck. He saw her fiddling with a teaspoon that she held in her right hand, flicking it back and forth in her impatience. It struck him then that the entire scene was _odd_ , that he'd never seen her so antsy before. And then it occurred to him that perhaps he couldn't be sure of that – except that he _was._

He backed out of the kitchen door silently, then cleared his throat out in the hall, giving her a moment to realize he was there but not be startled.

He came through the door again as she was turning to face him. "Mr. Carson," she said softly, "whatever are you doing up at this time of night?"

"I'm not sure. Couldn't sleep, but I'm not sure why really. Usually I sleep quite soundly when it rains."

Elsie motioned her head forward, indicating his chest. "Are they sore? Your ribs, I mean. The rain … well, it bothers my leg sometimes."

"Yes, I know," he replied, and she smirked at him.

"Of course you do – I'd forgotten." And they both laughed as the irony of her statement struck them. "Would you care to join me for a cuppa?"

"I would, if it's not a bother."

Elsie shook her head slowly. "No, Mr. Carson, it's fine." She turned to gather another cup and saucer as he added more tea to the pot and poured the now-boiling water in before returning the kettle to the stove. He made to lift the tray as well, but she scolded him before he could touch it.

"It's bad enough that you've just lifted that kettle, Mr. Carson – don't you dare touch that tray." She picked it up and motioned with her head for him to move out of the doorway. It irked him to obey, to not allow her to go first, but he was actually in her way as they stood. He moved to the servants' table, pulling out her seat for her as she set the tray down.

They sat in silence as she prepared both cups of tea, just as she had been doing for years. Charles watched her hands – _strong yet delicate hands_ , he thought – as they poured and stirred and set a cup and saucer in front of him.

"Thank you," he murmured. Then, remembering their earlier conversation, he ventured a question. "The rain makes your hip hurt too, doesn't it?"

Elsie chuckled, taking a tiny sip of her tea, relishing the heat it would bring to her aching body. "Oh, yes … for quite a few years now, Mr. Carson. It's the price we pay for getting older, working the hours that we do, going up and down millions of stairs, I suppose."

He hummed an answer, seemingly pondering some great thought. Elsie didn't want to poke and prod – she did enough of that as she tried to coax his mind through the day. Instead, she got up from the table suddenly and made her way back to the kitchen. "I'll just be a moment," she told him.

Charles looked up as she returned with a plate. "You look as if you could use this, Mr. Carson."

He smiled as he saw a rather generous slice of his favorite apple tart on the plate. "But you've not brought yourself anything?"

"Ah," she replied with a smile, "but I have." She held up her other hand, in which she was grasping two forks.

His laughter carried down the corridor before he remembered it was the middle of the night, Elsie shushing him with a twinkle in her eye.

"I love these quiet moments when the house is asleep, Mr. Carson, so don't you _dare_ wake them all up!"

She held out a fork to him, and he managed to brush his fingers across her wrist as he took it from her. To Elsie's ears, the soft gasp that escaped her mouth sounded as though it echoed across the room.

"Elsie …" He looked at her again, trying to convey with his eyes what he now dared not say aloud.

"Don't … please, Mr. Carson, not now," she begged. "Let's not have this conversation now."

"Just tell me one thing," he pleaded, "and then I won't bring it up again."

She rolled her eyes, realizing there would be no escaping it once it had begun. "One thing, and that's all for tonight."

Charles saw her gather her lip under her teeth again, but he was comforted that she was, at least, looking him in the eye.

"It isn't something I'm making up, is it? There _is_ something there … _here_ , between us … or, rather, there _was_. I've an awful feeling that I'm to blame for the fact that it's no longer there …"

She was silent for a moment, and then nodded very slowly. "Aye, Mr. Carson ... there _was_. But it was so very long ago, and you alone are not to blame." She almost stopped there, but felt she owed him a bit more. "There is one more piece you haven't placed yet, but it's best that you manage that on your own without any help from me."

She picked up her fork then, attacking the back of the tart slice as she knew he preferred the pointed end, where there was less crust to, as he always said, 'interfere with the flavor of the apples.' He saw a small smile come to her lips and he returned it in kind, knowing that, once again, she was caring for him in all the small ways that she could.

* * *

 **I liked this one, and hope you did as well. Drop me a note or review and share your thoughts, if you please.**


	12. In the Garden

**A/N: Thanks for all your amazing reviews! To the guest reviewers, I wish I could respond to you! HUGE HUG to silhouettedswallow for pointing out inconsistencies here, I truly appreciate it.**

 **Song choice (don't hurt me - there's a method to my madness) is "Wasted Time," by The Eagles. (I love them - great, great band.) I've put it up on my Spotify: ChelsieSouloftheAbbey, Playlist: Chelsie Potpourri.**

 **xx**

 **CSotA**

 _ **You never thought you'd be alone this far down the line,**_

 _ **And I know what's been on your mind**_

 _ **You're afraid it's all been wasted time.**_

 _ **The autumn leaves have got you thinking**_

 _ **About the first time that you fell**_

 _ **You didn't love the boy too much**_

 _ **No, no, you just loved the boy too well ...**_

It had been a very long, very busy morning, and by mid-afternoon things were finally starting to calm down. Dr. Clarkson had arrived to check up on Mr. Carson's progress, and the butler was hoping to be able to return to dinner service as soon as possible. It was approaching tea time when Anna's knock startled a quite-exhausted Elsie, who was still trying to make sense of her ledger.

"Mrs. Hughes, Doctor Clarkson would like a word. Is this a good time?"

Elsie sighed, nodding. "It's as good a time as any, I suppose. Where might I find him?"

"He said to tell you he'd be out in the garden, actually," Anna said, a look of confusion on her face. "I do hope everything is alright."

"I'm sure it is, thank you. I must say, I won't mind getting out for a bit." Elsie rose and thanked Anna, then left her office. Having been unable to sleep well following her midnight chat with Mr. Carson, Elsie knew that a good dose of sunshine and fresh air would do her good; it certainly wouldn't do to fall asleep at her desk before dinner.

As she made her way out of the servants' entrance and walked around to the gardens, Elsie reflected on how her relationship with Mr. Carson had changed over the years. When she'd first arrived at Downton as head housemaid, Elsie expected they would maintain a strict, professional relationship, particularly since he was her superior. Then she became housekeeper, an event which arrived much sooner than either of them had anticipated and, from that point on, Mr. Carson had to accept her as an equal ( _or almost,_ she thought). No one at the house knew that Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes had been previously acquainted; since her arrival they'd been pretending to be strangers who were forging a new relationship from nothing at all, a collegial existence that was a way of getting to know each other once again, albeit in a very different way. She had initially told herself she wouldn't pressure him into discussing what was past as she had anticipated that he'd feel the need to bury that knowledge deep down inside himself; therefore, Elsie dove into her work, tried to force herself to only see the man as a trusted colleague.

But, after a while, Elsie realized that she couldn't fight her thoughts; like snowflakes that would appear on her fingertips, melting before she could get a decent look at the details, her memories would flit through her mind, only to disappear instantly at the sound of a knock on her door, his baritone in the corridor, or the questioning voice of a young maid. She eventually learned to manage her memories, to compartmentalize them instead of trying to ignore them completely, but she still never spoke to him about them at all.

 _Well, that's not entirely true,_ she _did_ push him about it once, asking if he wished he'd gone another way. His answer slapped her into the harsh reality that no, he really didn't regret it at all. That statement alone had nearly been her undoing, both stabbing at her heart and igniting her anger. She'd wished she could make him realize that there could be _more_ to this life they now shared, that there could be infinitely more possibilities open to them that only what his professional mind allowed him to see … that the opportunity for it all had always been there if he'd not been so downright stubborn, so _afraid_ … and if she'd not given up so easily all those years ago.

And then the beach, and the train derailment, and now everything she thought she wanted could be right there in her grasp. The man was more open, he was starting to _remember_ things that he'd always ignored. She knew that he had forgotten so much, and she was astonished to find him placing everything she'd ever wanted in front of her, virtually laying it at her feet – if only she weren't so afraid to touch it.

"Dr. Clarkson? I'm sorry if I've kept you waiting."

He turned to face her, giving her a gentle smile. "No, not at all Mrs. Hughes. Please, have a seat," he said, indicating the small table and chairs. "And do not worry, I have obtained Lady Grantham's permission for us to meet here. I find it quite lovely, actually – a nice little escape from my day – to just sit and enjoy nature every so often."

Elsie hummed her agreement, thinking back to the days when she was just a lass near the sea in Scotland, when she'd take long walks over the beach just to revel in the beauty of it all.

"Mrs. Hughes," he began, "Mr. Carson has made enormous strides these past couple of days. He did ask me to keep you informed of things, as did Dr. Gill." He paused. "Mr. Carson doesn't quite remember everything about his past, of course …" his voice trailed off.

"No, he doesn't," she acknowledged, knowing where this was headed. "And I've declined to help him along in that regard."

"And I agree with your decision, despite the protestations that I just received from the man himself," he chuckled. "He is quite stubborn when he wants to be."

The sharp laugh escaped Elsie's mouth before she could stop it, and she shook her head. "You're telling me."

Dr. Clarkson's face became serious, and he got to the heart what he wanted to say. "I am aware that Dr. Gill explained how common it is for recent events to fall back into place first with regards to recovering from amnesia, especially when the patient is surrounded by the scenes in which they occurred." Elsie nodded, but said nothing.

"It is your decision as to how much you lead him, Mrs. Hughes. I can assure you that no one else will ever know of the details of your past that you've confided in me. And while I _do_ agree with the fact that you've not yet filled in all the blanks for him, you must be prepared for the fact that he may _never_ be able to do that himself … but, perhaps more difficult for you, you should also be prepared for the fact that he may, indeed, fill in those blanks – and that he might then hold your reserve against you."

"Yes, I know." She shook her head and stood, then wandered over toward a bed of gloriously vibrant, early autumn flowers, finding it necessary to put a bit of distance between herself and this man who knew all ( _no, MOST …_ ) of her secrets. She took a deep, renewing breath, sensing the changes in the seasons, in the very air itself.

"You know, I thought had it all worked out," she said quietly. "Once I came here, once I discovered he wanted to pretend that none of it had ever happened, I got on with my life. The work was plentiful in such a large house, and I was content to do it – grateful I had it, of course, as I had to pay for the child's keep. And then that damned flu hit, and he could have died, and I realized that I wasn't content with maintaining our professional status quo any longer. And then _I_ was ill, as you well know …"

"Yes," he responded quietly, "and your secret was out – to me, at least."

She nodded, wiping a tear from her lashes before clenching her hands tightly in front of her stomach again. "And my secret was out – and _only_ to you, thank you very much! But then I was _well_ , and he was so happy, and I thought … well, it seemed that there was a different way after all. Now all this time has passed, and he doesn't even remember how it all began! But despite that, or perhaps because of it, he _wants_ more than he did before, and I'm not sure what to do."

Elsie took a deep breath, steadying herself after her long-winded speech. "I cannot believe I just said all that. I apologize, Dr. Clarkson – I'm not sure what came over me."

Dr. Clarkson rose and joined her at the flowerbed, hoping to bring a sense of peace to her mind. "Would it help if I told you I had guessed at a connection long ago – long before my conversations with Dr. Gill and with you?"

Shocked, she whipped her head sideways to face him. "You never did!"

He nodded. "I suspected, at the very least. He was so very concerned about you when you were ill, more than a mere friend would have been – or, at least, more than a typical male colleague would have been. It made me wonder. I've known the man quite a few years, and he opens himself up to no one like he does to you."

"And now I've become so used to how things are that I'm not sure I want the rest of it 'opened up,' as you've put it. Is that so awful of me?"

"No," he soothed her. "But don't close your mind to the possibility. You'll not be employed here forever, I imagine."

"He will be!" she answered harshly. "He wants to – what did he say? – oh, yes, to 'die in harness and haunt the place forevermore.' Something along those lines, anyhow. So, you see, none of it matters."

"I don't think that's true any longer," Dr. Clarkson mused. "He knows now that he's got another life out there, or at least the hint of one teasing at his mind. I wish to ask you something, but please don't answer if you don't wish to. It's horribly intrusive of me, but …"

She smirked at that, an eyebrow raised. "We're fellow Scots, Dr. Clarkson, and you already know more about me than I ever wished anyone on earth to know. By all means, fire away."

"Do you know where the child is now?"

Elsie closed her eyes, breathing deeply, and was silent for so long that he thought she'd never answer him at all.

"Aye, Dr. Clarkson, I know where she is. And, if he can ever pull it from his hazy mind, so does Charlie. I can't believe he hasn't already put it together, to be honest."

"Well, then, perhaps you should see what conclusions of his own he can draw? At the moment, there are only four people on earth who know the truth that we're discussing, and Dr. Gill and myself are barred professionally – and ethically – from speaking of it to anyone except for you. I hope it's at least some small comfort that you can always come to me if you have any concerns."

Elsie nodded gratefully. "You're a good man, Dr. Clarkson, and I thank you for all of this. I'm just not sure what to do, and it's not a position in which I often find myself."

"No, I realize that. One day at a time, Mrs. Hughes. One day at a time."

With that, they turned and made their way back to the house, where Elsie caught the slightest glimpse of a man whisking himself away from the cracked-open doorway.

 _Well, well, Mr. Barrow_ , she thought. _Because I needed something ELSE with which to occupy my mind._

Dr. Clarkson seemed to notice her discomfort and sent her a questioning glance.

"It appears we've had company, Dr. Clarkson."

"Which is why I asked you to the garden, Mrs. Hughes. I presume Mr. Barrow was attempting to join you here, inasmuch as he was able?" He frowned. "It's unlikely that he heard anything, but please be careful."

"Oh, you don't have to tell me, Dr. Clarkson. I've been managing _that_ bit of trouble for years now."

After dinner (during which Charles had been strangely quiet) Elsie headed back to her sitting room, hoping to _finally_ finish balancing her ledger from the time she'd been in London. She had been pulled in all directions following her chat with Dr. Clarkson and had even missed staff tea. At dinner, she quietly suggested to Anna and Miss Baxter that she needed a solitary hour in her sitting room, practically begging them to keep their eyes open for any issues that might come up with the other maids.

Upon entering her parlour, Elsie's nose picked up on something fragrant. She scanned the room and her eyes fell upon a beautiful vase of wildflowers placed in the center of her desk, blooms which were vaguely familiar to her but that she couldn't quite place. _Definitely not from the Abbey's gardens,_ she thought. _What on earth?_

As she approached the desk Elsie saw a small envelope tucked behind the vase. Her breath hitched as she instantly recognized the stationary as being from the set she'd gifted Charles with only last Christmas. With a trembling hand she reached for it, slid her letter opener under the flap and opened the envelope very slowly. With a deep breath she removed the paper that it contained and unfolded it. On it were written very few words, but their impact caused Elsie to plop unceremoniously in her chair, grateful for the fact that it was there so that she didn't end up on the floor.

 _Elsie ~_

 _I think we need to speak. About the flowers ... and everything else._

 _~ Charlie_


	13. London, 1901

_**A/N: THIS IS UPDATE #2 TONIGHT - BE SURE YOU'VE READ CHAPTER 12 FIRST.**_

 _ **Some background ... thanks again to beta-extraordinaire silhouettedswallow.**_

 _ **I appreciate all the "When are you updating?" messages! It makes me really happy that you like the story so much. I've just returned to work today, though, and am finishing up a chapter of "Music of Our Lives" this week, so it's going to be at least a week for this one. I'm apologizing in advance, and promise to explain everything (or most of it) in Chapters 14-16. xxx**_

 _ **CSotA**_

 _ **Song choice NOT on Spotify, so hit up YouTube: "Haunted," by Sinead O'Connor and Shane MacGowan (thanks, brenna-louise!).**_

 _ **Do you remember that sunny day,**_

 _ **Somewhere in London in the middle of nowhere?**_

 _ **Didn't have nothing to do that day,**_

 _ **Didn't want to do nothing anyway ...**_

 _ **I want to be haunted by the ghost**_

 _ **Of your precious love ...**_

 **London, 1901**

" _Oh, excuse me!" she exclaimed, trying valiantly not to fall on her behind in the middle of the bakery._

 _He reached out to grab her elbow – saving her dignity, perhaps, but not the bread that had been in her arms. She turned, looked into his eyes, and he struggled to remember how to breathe._

" _The fault is mine, I wasn't looking where I was going. Forgive me, Miss …?"_

" _Hughes," came her breathless answer. She hadn't even looked to see what had happened to the loaves of bread, she only had a vague notion that they weren't in her basket where they should have been. "Elsie Hughes."_

 _He took a deep breath, relinquishing his hold on her arm reluctantly. "Well, Miss Elsie Hughes, I believe that you are now in need of two new loaves of bread. I do apologize for my complete clumsiness, and I insist on paying for them."_

 _She still hadn't withdrawn her gaze, and he wasn't sure if he was freezing or melting under its fierce, blue light. "That's quite alright, sir," she replied, a question joining the brightness in her eyes._

" _Charlie Carson," he said, somehow managing to extend his hand without it shaking. He delighted in the warmth of her small fingers as he grasped them and gave her a slight handshake._

" _Well, Mr. Carson," she began, having regained her composure at last, "it appears I'd better watch myself around you!" And then the double-meaning of her words made it to her brain – much, much too late, she realized – and she blushed furiously at the unintended insinuation. "Oh, I do apologize! That was hardly appropriate."_

 _He barked out a laugh, realizing that the sound seemed new to his ears. Charlie wasn't exactly unhappy with his life, but he rarely had the time or the inclination to be jovial._

" _Have no fear, Miss Hughes. I presume you're new to London?" he asked, eyebrows raised. I most certainly would remember seeing_ _ **her**_ _before, he thought._

" _I beg your pardon?" she asked, a flare of temper flashing across her face as she raised an eyebrow at him. "Do you presume that because I am_ _ **Scottish**_ _? I can assure you, Mr. Carson, I am managing quite well in London."_

 _He put his hands up as if to ward off her fury. "No, I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I'm terribly sorry, I was just trying to be polite." He furrowed his expansive brow, trying to right the situation. "It's just that I've never_ _ **seen**_ _you here before, and I'm frequently in this part of the city on my time off …"_

 _Seeing she'd managed to frighten him, she sighed, shaking her head slightly as she apologized. "I'm the one who should be sorry, that was horribly rude of me." She took a deep, calming breath. "I'm the head housemaid at Carlton House. This is my first time in London with the family, but I've visited before."_

 _He nodded. "Ah, yes – they've not come in for the Season for some years now. Tell me, are you enjoying your position with them?" He motioned to the baker as he spoke, indicating that he'd like two more loaves of bread for Elsie. He paid the baker's wife and placed the bread in Elsie's shopping basket._

" _Thank you, Mr. Carson," she said, indicating the loaves. "Yes, I am enjoying my position very much. I'd been with a family in Scotland for a number of years, but the opportunity to be head housemaid in a larger house was too good to turn down. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've a few other errands to run, and would rather not spend my entire half-day in this bakery." She smiled kindly at him, and he knew at that moment that he'd do anything within his power to see that smile again._

" _Miss Hughes, forgive me for being so bold, but as it's also_ _ **my**_ _half-day, might you allow me to escort you on your errands? If you've time afterward, I'd be happy to give you the 'Charlie Carson Tour of London,'" he said theatrically, giving her a slight bow. "I've spent many a Season here, and there are things that, in my opinion, simply should not be missed."_

 _She looked at him for a moment, and he saw curiosity in her eyes. He had the distinct feeling that she was almost judging him, and that she wasn't someone to dawdle when making up her mind. He hoped fervently that she didn't find him wanting. After what seemed like an age to him but had only been several seconds in reality, she acquiesced. "I'd be delighted, Mr. Carson, thank you."_

 _Charlie opened the door for her as they exited the bakery, ever so grateful that Lord and Lady Grantham had chosen this particular Season to spend in London making updates to Grantham House._

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

 _The errands were completed swiftly, followed by tea at his favorite shop and a walk in the park. Charlie couldn't believe how comfortable he was with the diminutive – but fiery! – woman who was now seated beside him on the park bench. He'd never been this at ease with anyone in his life, not even Alice. Elsie was chatting away about a book she'd been wanting to purchase, slightly annoyed that the book seller didn't have a copy in yet._

" _I thought for sure that they'd have it here in London," she mused. "Do you enjoy reading, Mr. Carson?"_

" _I do – quite a lot, actually," he answered. "Dickens is my favorite, but I'll read nearly anything I can get my hands on. I frequently borrow books from Lord Grantham's library; I find that reading helps my mind to wind down at the end of the day."_

 _She nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. "I love getting lost in another world sometimes. Not that I don't appreciate my position, Mr. Carson, but sometimes it's nice to … well … live a different life."_

" _Hmm," he mused, lost for a moment as he watched her nibbling on her bottom lip._

" _Mr. Carson?"_

" _Oh! Yes … I'm so sorry." He looked around them, noticing that the sun was beginning to set. He quickly took out his pocket watch, glancing at the time._

" _Oh, my goodness, Miss Hughes! I didn't realize the time at all. I must not keep you from your dinner."_

 _She reached out and patted his arm briefly, before remembering herself and pulling her hand back to her lap. "Please do not worry yourself, Mr. Carson. I typically fend for myself on my half-day. Her Ladyship makes it quite clear that I'm not expected back for dinner – they are truly kind and generous in that regard. But, to be quite be honest, I prefer a simple meat pie and watching the sun set while_ _ **out**_ _of doors to being trapped inside with few windows and a half-warmed meal. I've had a chance to sample quite a few choices from the local vendors." She paused, hoping she hadn't sounded ungrateful, but he was already nodding._

" _I wholeheartedly agree." He took a deep breath and forged ahead, wanting to speak before he lost his nerve altogether. "Might you allow me to show you_ _ **my**_ _favorite place for dinner?" He paused, wondering if he'd been too forward. "It does afford a lovely view of the city," he added._

 _She hesitated, and his heart sank. What if she's not allowed? She hardly knows me, and this is hardly proper. But still, we're both of a certain age, he thought; it's not as if we're being taken in by the impetuousness of youth._

 _And then his spirit soared as she gave a brief nod of agreement. In the years to come, he would pinpoint that moment as the time his axis shifted, the day when he suddenly felt a little less lonely in the world._

 _"Why not, Mr. Carson? I am rather enjoying seeing these quieter bits of London you're showing me."_

 _So, with hopeful minds and fluttering hearts, they proceeded on their way._

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

 _The rest of the Season passed in a blur, and Elsie and Charlie managed to spend every half-day together. On their second outing, he had reached out to take her hand, and his heart had sung as she'd not only allowed it, but grasped his fingers firmly in her own._

 _We're not exactly teenagers, Elsie had told herself firmly. There's no need to feel so … giddy._

 _But throughout the summer it became more difficult to believe that. She_ _ **did**_ _feel like a teenager in the first blush of love. Over the course of her life, Elsie had precious few opportunities to be truly happy. Growing up on a farm had ensured she'd appreciate the value of hard work, of earning a living to help support her family. She'd even been courted and – she still couldn't believe it – proposed to. She had cared for Joe, truly she had, but she'd never felt as happy, as cared about, as – yes –_ _ **loved,**_ _as she did when she was with Charlie. He'd not yet said the words, and nor had she, but she knew they were there, just under the thinnest of covers, ready to be revealed at just the right moment. And it scared her to death because once the precious, beautiful London Season came to a close, he'd be lost to her once again._

 _They managed one full day off together towards the end of the season – a minor miracle, which she'd barely managed to arrange with the housekeeper at Carlton House – and Charlie surprised her by bringing along a picnic hamper and a blanket. She'd agreed to meet him in the park just after breakfast, and had arrived only moments before him._

" _Charlie Carson! However did you manage to get_ _ **that**_ _out of the house unseen?"_

 _He simply smiled and shook his head, touching his fingertip to the tip of her nose. "A valet must be able to keep secrets, Miss Hughes."_

" _Elsie," she reminded him._

 _He watched her as her eyes glanced downward at her toes, her timid voice ringing in his ears. "Elsie," he whispered, reaching his hand out to cup her chin and raise her face toward his. He leaned in and brushed her lips with his own, fearing for a fleeting moment that he'd lost his ability to stand despite the fact that this was hardly their first kiss._

 _Her eyes fluttered shut as she got lost in the warmth of his touch._ _ **This**_ _is love, she thought._ _ **This**_ _is what it feels like to get lost in another's presence._

 _They broke apart, painfully aware that they could have been seen despite the lack of other pedestrians out at this early hour. "Charlie, we should head somewhere … else," she suggested. He held out his elbow and she tucked her hand into the crook, not caring where on earth he took her today, wishing that the hours would last forever._

" _Well, I've got a spot that I often go at the end of the Season. My favorite spot – on the outskirts London, actually, but I'm sure that few people know of its existence." He stopped walking and looked at her. "Would you like to see it? We'd need to take a short tram ride …" His voice trailed off, hopeful that she would place her trust in him but aware that she may not wish to._

 _Elsie nodded. "I don't care where you take me, Charlie, as long as we're together. I can't bear the thought of the Season coming to an end so soon."_

 _He couldn't help but agree, wondering how in the world he was going to live without her once he returned to Downton._

 _They descended from the tram in a relatively rural area. Charlie led her down the road a small way and then onto a winding trail. The further down the path they proceeded, with its twists and turns and forks, the more Elsie marveled at how the man wasn't completely lost. She had a remarkable sense of direction but even she'd be hard-pressed to find her way back out of all of this. What had started as a wide path approaching a forest had eventually become a narrow trail bordered only by trees and the occasional woodland creature skittering about in the leaves. But just when she thought they couldn't get any further in, the trees parted, and a small clearing could be seen. The entire area was surrounded by dense brush, the sky partially covered with leaves that let the sunlight peek in here and there but still provided shade. She looked at the grass, which looked lush and green and was strewn with random clumps of wildflowers._

" _Oh, Charlie," she breathed. "This is the most beautiful place I've ever seen."_

" _I've been wanting to show it to you all this time," he began, "but … well, I wasn't sure if it was a good idea."_

 _One look in his eyes told her his meaning exactly. She reached up and brushed her fingertips across his lips. "Perhaps it was a_ _ **perfect**_ _idea, love."_

 _His eyebrows flew up as they both realized what she'd said. "Elsie," he muttered, putting the basket onto the ground and drawing her into his arms. "Oh, Elsie, my love. And I_ _ **do**_ _love you, so very, very much more than I'd ever thought I could love anyone."_

 _As he pulled her tighter into his embrace their lips crashed together passionately. This was what she'd spent all those years listening to the housekeepers cautioning girls about. But it didn't matter one bit, because this just might be worth giving everything up for, to_ _ **feel**_ _this just once in her life. And, by God, she was going to let it happen if it was what he wanted. The thought barely passed through her brain before she lost all control over thought and reason, getting completely lost in Charlie, in this glorious place where they'd never be found by another living soul._

 _He was barely able to focus on what was happening and took a moment to break away from her. He silently spread the blanket on the ground and sat on it, waiting to see what she'd do._

 _Best to let her take the lead, Charlie my man … you don't want to mess this up._

 _And what did he have to offer her? What could he promise besides this one lovely, uninterrupted day? He certainly wasn't in any position to make a proposal of marriage, an offer to share his life, to make a proper home for them. What on Earth was he_ _ **doing?**_

 _She sat down next to him, sensing that he had something on his mind, something bothering him. She foolishly worried that he suddenly didn't want this. "Charlie?"_

 _He grasped her hands and kissed the backs of them. "Elsie, please, hear me out. I am sorry … I should never have presumed … I'm in no position to marry you, not with us both in service, it would never be allowed …"_

" _Shhh, my lovely man," she murmured, placing her fingertips over his lips. "I know … and I've nothing to give you except for this." She paused then, trying to put together words that would be both heartfelt and honest. "I appreciate you respecting my honor, but I'm hardly a lass." She stopped at that, hoping desperately that she wouldn't have to explain the basics to him, wouldn't have to explain that the threat of 'repercussions' was slight at best, that she was midway through that phase of her life and almost past any chance at all that she'd be able to bear children, that women in her family reached that stage fairly early in life. The thought stabbed at her heart, the knowledge that she could marry this man tomorrow and they'd still have no decent chance to have a proper family, and she shoved it deep down inside, not wanting to examine it any further._

" _I'd marry you tomorrow if we could, you need to understand that," he whispered, moving to sit behind her and pulling her back so that she rested against his chest. "If only we didn't have to return next week."_

" _If only we didn't have to return, if only we didn't need the work … Charlie, it's no good wishing for something we can't possibly have. But I fully intend to enjoy this day with you, this afternoon that we_ _ **do**_ _have, before we need to return to reality in a few days' time … if you'll have me."_

 _And, with that, she turned and pressed her lips to his once again, secure in the knowledge that no matter what else life brought their way, in this moment she was loved deeply and honestly in a way that she might never be again._


	14. Argyll, 1901

**A/N: I'm sorry about the delay, folks, and appreciate all the "gentle" inquiries. :) I love that you've missed it!**

 **My sincere thanks go out to my lovely helpers on this chapter, parts of which needed to be "Scottishified" - the Doc and ladyaureliacrawley were of invaluable help on this one and LAC even added in some Gaelic! I work with languages for a living, and just couldn't throw this out there without that bit of authenticity.**

 **Song choice is "Who Are You Foolin'?" by folk singer Cheryl Wheeler. You likely have never heard of her, but by some miracle the song is on Spotify, so I've added it to my "Chelsie Potpourri" playlist (username: ChelsieSouloftheAbbey). She's pretty fab if you like folk music.**

 **Thanks for all the reviews and reblogs! Two more chapters coming VERY SOON! xx**

* * *

 ** _I could write you a letter, and I always do in my head._**

 ** _Just to tell you I'm better and this lonely didn't kill me I guess._**

 ** _But just when I know I've finally let go,_**

 ** _I dream you are so much closer._**

 ** _Oh who am I foolin'?_**

 ** _Some things you just don't get over._**

 ** _I'm wearing a new face, a little insane,_**

 ** _And here in the old place nothing's the same_**

 ** _I'm waiting for winter, it always seems warmer somehow._**

 ** _It's the sun on the snowfall and the silence I am longing for now._**

 ** _But with one backward glance, I won't stand a chance,_**

 ** _So I'll wave goodbye over my shoulder._**

 ** _Yeah who am I foolin'?_**

 ** _Somethings you just don't get over._**

* * *

 _Elsie tried to ignore the burning feeling of despair that was threatening to burst forth from her at any time. As the sound of the train echoed through her brain - quite loudly, in fact, despite the noisy chatter of the others inhabiting her car - it fell into a rhythm that seemed to be chanting to her:_ _weakness-and-shame, weakness-and-shame …_

 _It had only taken a few weeks for Elsie to realize the God-awful truth of her situation; it hadn't been long at all before her body started to believe the words of an age-old language being whispered in its ear, the faint murmurs that had confirmed her deepest fears, and Elsie_ _had realized that there were two opportunities that lay ahead of her._

 _The first was ridiculous and she dismissed it immediately: there was simply no way that she could afford to_ _ **not**_ _work, to raise the child on her own in London. She needed money, not only for herself but for her family back home, and there would never come a day that she'd take to the streets to earn it._

 _The second had been rather a futile hope, really, as she knew the reality of both her and Charlie leaving their posts, of one of them finding another job as they lived as a married couple, was an impossible dream. At their ages, either of them would be lucky to find_ _ **any**_ _other work that would pay to support not only them but the bairn on the way; even then, they'd be lucky to obtain a reference at all once the Carltons and Granthams found out the true reason behind their leaving. And they **would** find out, Elsie knew, oh yes, because no one below stairs ever kept secrets for long. __A visit to Charlie had only confirmed her deepest fears about that second option - he wanted nothing to do with leaving a good job and he'd just been made butler for one of the most influential families in their corner of England._

 _Despite the terror bubbling up inside of her, Elsie would do nothing to stand in his way. She certainly couldn't argue with his rationale, couldn't ask him to give it all up because of her own foolishness. Elsie felt deep down that the circumstances in which they now found themselves were, honestly and truly, because of a careless decision that_ _ **she**_ _had made; she'd pushed for what she wanted, pushed for hours of happiness instead of years of restraint._

 _She'd visited Charlie in the village near the Abbey to tell him, and he had offered to send her money, to do what he could to help support the child. He did his best to talk her into traveling home and having the child there, perhaps leaving it with her mother. That brought up another issue, of course, one which Elsie had never discussed with him._

 _But then, as Elsie had looked into his eyes, the deep brown color full of all the love and longing, sadness and regret that he had, she realized there was perhaps an option three: to travel home and have the child, but to then let it be raised by another family while Elsie returned to service. She could return to London even, if she could be so lucky, perhaps, return to some semblance of the life she'd been building for herself before she'd sabotaged it all in a moment of weakness._

 _Of all the options, this third one was the soundest, but it was the one that broke her heart. The idea of losing Charlie to his "family" had been bad enough, the knowledge that he'd chosen them over her having shattered her heart into a million bits despite the fact that it was the best choice for **him**. But the idea of giving up this child, this wondrous new life that had been created by their tremendous love … doing **that** would nearly kill her. _

_So Elsie had written to her Mam, giving few details in the letter save for the declaration she would be returning home, lest the note fall into the prying hands of a nosy footman or maid. She then met with Lady Carlton. 'Yes, Milady, my mother has fallen quite ill. Yes, if you please, I would request to return home as soon as you've found a replacement. I am truly sorry, Milady.' And thank God the woman had at least been kind enough to offer a reference, because Elsie had just put herself out of a job._

 _The train pulled into the station and Elsie was pulled from her reverie by the horrifying sound of the pouring rain. Drops were absolutely pounding on the roof of the train cars, huge puddles on the walkway of the quay as she descended the stairs. She smiled at the porter who'd unloaded her trunk and helped her to find a trolley for it, and hoped that her Mam had been able to send one of the farmhands with the cart in order to fetch her at the station._

" _Miss Elsie?" came a voice from behind her. "I'm hear t' fetch ye for Mrs. Hughes. She cannae hardly wait to see ye."_

" _Jack Campbell, is that you? Oh, my, but you've grown into such a tall lad!" The sound of her voice startled her a bit; the cultured, clipped London tones she'd tried so hard to develop these past years suddenly irritating her the moment she was surrounded by this voice of her homeland. She tried to ignore the feeling, as it certainly wouldn't do to slip back into the thick brogue she'd worked so hard to rid herself of in order to have a successful life in service. She'd falter at times, but wouldn't let herself forget - propriety is everything in service, and a thick, Scottish accent was certainly_ _ **never**_ _proper if one wanted a successful job in England._

 _Elsie couldn't believe the sight of the man in front of her, the one who'd been but a boy of twelve when she'd left the farm and who now looked like he was strong enough to work the land single-handedly. Actually, she thought, that is likely an accurate assessment of what **is** happening. "I cannot thank you enough for coming for me."_

 _Bless him - if Jack had been startled at the sound of her voice, he said nothing; the young man just nodded, hefting her rather large trunk onto his shoulder as though it were filled with only air as opposed to all of her worldly possessions. "Best be off if we're t' make it before nightfall. Mrs. Hughes sent me with a piece for ye, if ye need a scran."_

 _Elsie was surprised to discover that she was, indeed, famished. "Thank you."_

oOoOoOoOoOo

" _Essie!" came Becky's screeching voice. Elsie had about two seconds before her sister's body came careening into hers, barely time to turn just so, protecting the life she was so carefully guarding within her and bearing the brunt of Becky's force with her hip instead._

" _Oh, Becky, my darling lass," she said softly, cupping her sister's face with her hands and kissing her repeatedly on the forehead. "I've missed you so."_

" _Are ye staying?" Becky demanded. "Essie needs t'stay wid Becky."_

" _I'll be here for a long while, yes, but not forever," Elsie answered gently. She would never tell Becky the true reason for her working, would never make the girl feel like a burden, but an unspoken truth had always existed between Elsie and her Mam: one day, Margaret Hughes would be gone, and Becky's care would have to be managed by someone else. Elsie was putting as much by as she could in order to be prepared for when that day came, and the guilt she felt at the knowledge that a bairn would now be sharing in that was too great to speak of just yet. "Becky, where's Mam?"_

" _Elspeth Margaret Hughes, ciamar a tha thu?" Elsie turned quickly, trying to maintain control of her ever-changing emotions as she moved forward into her Mam's open arms. "Shhh, it's alright Elsie. We'll manage," her Mam whispered, calming all of her eldest daughter's fears in a few quiet words. Elsie could hold it in no longer; feeling four years old instead of forty, Elsie embraced her Mam forcefully, burying her face into the older woman's neck and weeping at last, unable to voice her fears and concerns but knowing that, as always, her Mam understood them all, spoken or not._

oOoOoOoOoOo

" _Mrs. Macinroy's cousin?" Elsie's frustration was rapidly climbing. "Mam, you can't be serious? Everyone knows the Macinroy family is daft!"_

" _Elspeth, the woman and her husband have a well good life - in yer blessed England, no less! - and they are God-fearin' folk who work hard and keep to themselves. They'll take good care of yer bairn, make sure it's fed and grows up strong." Margaret was becoming incensed as the argument escalated for at least the third time that month. "Oh, lass, what did ye think would happen? Did ye think ye'd came dachaigh from London, all high 'n mighty with posh clò and a posh accent, and that they'd be linin' up at the door waiting to take in yer poor bastard of a child?"_

 _Elsie flinched as if she'd been slapped and turned away from her mother. She gripped the side of the kitchen sink and stared out the window into the night, at the snow-covered fields lit only by moonlight._

" _No," she whispered, "but I'd rather raise my bairn here myself and work the croft, never return to service, than let that woman's family take what's mine."_

 _Margaret lowered her voice to murmur and moved over to the sink, reaching out for Elsie's hand and squeezing it as she spoke. "Aye, but ye cannae - it's nae good. I've only got a few more good years left, and this croft is failin' more each harvest. Crops nae come back, you've seen how many of the stock we've had tae sell off just to make sure we're fed in the cold months. It's an impossible dream even if ye_ _wanted_ _this life, and we both know that bein' a crofter's wifie - or, worse yet, doing it on yer own - is not the life for ye. You're meant for something_ _ **greater**_ _, Elspeth, something better 'an what I've had. I don't regret loving your Da and having you lassies, but this family life is lonely, and yer too well good for it."_

" _Oh, Mam, I've been so foolish," Elsie moaned, trying her best to be quiet enough that Becky wouldn't waken. "I did **everything** right_ _,only to throw_ _away a wonderful future for the sake of what, exactly? I'm no better than the maids back in London, the ones with nothing but air in their heads, so busy making eyes at randy footmen that they forget they have to make a life for themselves."_

" _Elspeth Hughes, y'eve done nothin' that millions o' lasses the world over haven't done … oh, lassie, ye fell in love."_

" _But Mam, I knew better! I'd shake my head at those girls every day! And now here we stand. What does that make me?"_

 _Margaret sighed. "It makes ye no better than yer old Mam, lass," she said softly. "Whyever do ye think I ended up married to your Da, God rest his soul? Falling in love isn't the sin, El … don't ever think that it is._

 _"One day, hopefully not too far into the future, ye'll be back in yer big houses and around some new posh family and will realize something: ye've_ _ **lived**_ _your life. Ye've made choices, for better or worse, but ye'll see that you've been made all the stronger because o' them. Ye've_ _ **always**_ _been my strong, cannie, dependable lass, always the one to care for others. Ye'll be in charge of a big house one day, ye mark my words, and ye'll have those that will come to you from homes far worse than the one we're standing in now. Watch over them, Elspeth, and remember yer own. Watch over them as if you were watching over this one here," she said, reaching out to rub her daughter's swollen belly. "But don't ye ever forget, even in yer darkest hour, that ye're a Hughes woman, an' that we're made of sterner stuff than what the world throws our way."_

 _Elsie sighed and leaned back as Margaret placed her arm around Elsie's back, pulling her into a sideways embrace. The older woman kissed her daughter on the temple, and whispered, "We'll pay a call to the Macinroys tomorrow then, alright?"_

 _Elsie took a deep breath, wiped her tears, and nodded, already calculating how many wee bits of clothes the two women could put out in the next few months, already planning how much to offer this neighbor's family for the privilege of raising her bairn, this life inside her that she was growing closer to every day no matter how much she wished she weren't. She was so certain that it would be yet another strong Hughes woman, one she'd christen in her mother's name before handing her off forever with the hope that the lass would grow up full of love, ambition, and fire ... just like those who had gone before her._

" _Yes, Mam. And who knows? Perhaps they know of a family in England in need of a housemaid."_

" _There you are, love," Margaret replied softly. "There's my wee lass - always plannin', always strong and sure. Don't ever forget yerself, Elspeth."_

" _I won't. I promise."_

* * *

 **I won't BEG for reviews, but I do love hearing what you think!**


	15. Charlie Remembers

**ANSWERS! Well, one BIG answer, if you pay attention. Be sure you've read Chapter 14, which posted only yesterday.**

 **Song Choice - "I Loved You Once in Silence," from _Camelot_. Thanks to the person who threw that on my Chelsie Playlist post on tumblr a while back - I can't remember who it was, but I LOVE IT. It applies for this chapter as well as the next. I never put the entire set of lyrics up, but screw it - they apply. It's on my "Chelsie Potpourri" playlist on Spotify.**

 **Thanks to silhouettedswallow who beta'd about 3/4 of this, before I added more to the story and, undoubtedly, it's now longer than it was when I sent it to her. :)**

 **xx Reviews and reblogs always welcome - thanks!**

 **CSotA**

* * *

I loved you once in silence  
And misery was all I knew.  
Trying so to keep my love from showing,  
All the while not knowing you loved me too.

Yes, loved me in lonesome silence;  
Your heart filled with dark despair.  
Thinking love would flame in you forever,  
And I'd never, never know the flame was there.

Then one day we cast away our secret longing;  
The raging tide we held inside would hold no more.  
The silence at last was broken!  
We flung wide our prison door.

Every joyous word of love was spoken.

And now there's twice as much grief,  
Twice the strain for us;  
Twice the despair,  
Twice the pain for us  
As we had known before.

The silence at last was broken!  
We flung wide our prison door.

Every joyous word of love was spoken.

And after all had been said,  
Here we are, my love,  
Silent once more,  
And not far, my love,  
From where we were before.

* * *

 _Previously …_

 _With a deep breath she removed the paper that it contained and unfolded it. On it were written very few words, but their impact caused Elsie to plop unceremoniously in her chair, grateful for the fact that it was there so that she didn't end up on the floor._

 _Elsie ~_

 _I think we need to speak. About the flowers ... and everything else._

 _~ Charlie_

oOoOoOoOoOo

The note crinkled in Elsie's pocket as she made her way down the hall. She imagined she could feel it through the dress, as if it were burning her skin through the fabric in an attempt to ensure that she'd not forgotten about it. _As if I could forget._

Elsie knocked gently on his door, and heard a hearty "Come in!" before opening it.

"Mr. Carson?" She entered the room and then shut the door tightly. "I think you're right," she murmured, her back to him, "we need to talk."

He moved out from behind his desk and approached her slowly, noting how intently she was focused on the doorknob, how stiff her bearing was in her refusal to face him. He took enough steps to end up directly behind her yet still give her space to move if she so desired.

"Yes," he answered, "we do."

Elsie knew she couldn't quite face him if she was to maintain any sense of composure. It was earlier than their usual meeting time; maids were still flitting about and it would be at least another hour before Charles locked up and made his final rounds. That was why she'd shown up at his door _now_ , because in order to complete their evening work they'd have to maintain an air of appropriate distance and emotional detachment.

"The flowers were lovely," she uttered unexpectedly. "I can't believe you remembered. Wherever did you find them?"

He said nothing, simply reached out to ghost his fingertips over her shoulder blade, an act so intimate that she nearly jumped out of her skin, yet so comforting and _welcome_ that she was able to remain perfectly calm.

"Charlie …" she sighed, and he pulled his hand away.

"Won't you come and sit?" he invited. "Perhaps have a small sherry, early though it might be?"

Elsie nodded. "I think I shall, thank you."

He poured as she took her customary seat, and he handed her a glass. Their fingers touched and lingered for a moment before he withdrew.

"I need to know what you remember," she said bluntly. "I've no idea."

He sat heavily, pursing his lips as he spun the diminutive glass in his large fingers, looking very much the magician he'd acted on the stage all those years ago, making the glass disappear and reappear before her eyes without spilling a drop. Finally his fingers stilled, and he sipped at the sweet, amber liquid, trying to compose his thoughts.

"I remember the day we met," he began, and then he smiled. "The bakery – do you?"

"Aye, Charlie, how could I forget? That meeting cost you two good loaves of bread. The baker's wife was none too pleased, as I recall." She niggled at her lip, looking at him through her lashes. "What else?" she whispered, barely audible even in the closed room.

"I think I remember _everything_ , Elsie. The entire Season … the picnic … bringing you to the clearing, the scent of the flowers ..." He reached over and took her hand, waiting until she looked up at him. "It was, without a doubt, the best summer of my life."

"But you regretted it." She looked away again, couldn't bear to see the disappointment that would certainly appear in his eyes.

"No."

Elsie barked out a laugh. "Certainly you don't expect me to believe that."

"I remember, Elsie. There was … my God, we had a _child._ A _daughter._ I was right about that, only I was confused in hospital. I remember now, quite clearly. You went to Scotland ... home, until she was born …"

She nodded. "That I did – at your suggestion."

"But you didn't leave her there, did you? I think I've got a grasp on it, but some of the details escape me."

"Margaret," she breathed. "I named her for my mother, sent her to live with a neighbor's family. I had to return to work, had to earn so that I could support …" She almost said _them all_ , but checked herself at the last second.

"And then you came here," he completed.

"And then I came here," she agreed. "And …? Is there anything else, Charlie?"

He struggled with that, closed his eyes and subconsciously tightened his grip on her hand as he tried to pull the long-ago memory from the recesses of his mind. Suddenly, his eyes flew open. "She went somewhere else – she didn't stay with them."

She nodded slowly. "Yes. And that's … it?" she questioned him. She was pushing, prodding perhaps too hard, but she had to know what he knew.

Another pause, another furrow of the brow, and then Elsie could see the truth dawn as the scales fell from his eyes at last. A breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding escaped her lips in a whispered rush.

" _Sh- She's here,_ " he stammered. "She went to another family, and then you brought her _here_. Oh, my God … I _remember_."

And, with that, Elsie lay her glass down on the side table, looked down toward her lap, and burst into silent tears.

"Elsie," he whispered, moving his chair directly next to hers so that he could wrap his arm around her. He pulled her into his side and whispered to her, words of calm and reassurance.

"There's nothing to fear, Elsie … shh … no one knows." Only then he wasn't quite sure of that, and had to ask. "She has no idea, does she?"

Elsie shook her head violently. "No," she said, suddenly seeing that he was holding a handkerchief out to her. She took it and wiped at her face, then unceremoniously blew her nose. "No, she has no idea – _no one_ does, thank God. We'd all be out on the street!"

Charles wasn't so sure about that, but held his tongue.

Elsie got up and started pacing the room, well aware that at any time someone could come knocking on the door. She had to pull herself together, needed a moment to gather herself. Charles knew this, of course, and let her be until she regained her characteristic control.

"I have to ask, Charlie. _Why_ did you write and invite me to apply for the head housekeeper position?" she asked, her voice level rising dangerously. "Why on _earth_ did you invite me to work here, only to act from the moment I arrived like you wished I'd never existed?" Elsie was shouting now, but she couldn't manage to get control of her words. "Did you have _no_ idea that I still felt the same as I had before, the same way toward you?"

She stopped speaking for a moment, stared at him with that icy fire in her eyes that he only ever saw when she was most enraged, and then continued in a furious whisper. "Did you ever even _think_ of how hard it was, Charlie, that it ripped my heart out to leave her behind – to leave _our daughter_ behind – with near strangers? And then to come here, to work with you, to see you _every day_ and _know_ that you wished she didn't exist, watching you act as though we'd never even met!"

Charles looked crestfallen. "I don't think I can answer that in the way you need me to," he replied. "I think that, deep down, I knew that I would rather have you alongside me, working as my partner in this innocent and acceptable way, than not have you in my life at all." A tear slid down his cheek, but Elsie had taken to pacing again and didn't see it. "I missed you," he said weakly.

Finally, after what seemed like ages to Charles, Elsie's furious pacing came to a sudden stop. "And now what?" she demanded. "What do you _want_ , Charlie? All these years you wanted nothing to do with me, nothing to do with any of it. But then you changed …"

"Yes, when you were ill, when you thought ... Oh, Elsie … I realized I couldn't bear to lose you again," he admitted.

She sighed furiously then, almost a growl. "No, not _that_. I mean you've changed recently, that how you are _now_ is changed _._ I have been trying for years to find some aspect of you that would acknowledge the importance of what we shared, and once I understood that you didn't want to admit any of it, I decided to try and craft something new, something different. _I needed that – for_ _ **me**_ _._ "

She paused, suddenly unsure of how to express what she felt. "And then, at the beach … I thought we were making progress. Finally, after all these years, we seemed to be finding a way together again.

"But then that awful accident occurred, and now you're different _again_. Not 'Mr. Carson,' but some combination of him and _my Charlie_ , and I have no idea what to do with it … what to do with _you._ So I ask again: what do you want from me? What do you want _for_ _us?_ "

"I've been a fool, and I'll not deny it," he said. "I maintain my original stance that we couldn't have both left our positions, but I wish we _had_ married – even secretly, if that would have been best – and I could have tried to work out … something …" He threw his hands in the air and waved them in front of his chest, a characteristic sign of his unease. "I don't know," he admitted, "even now as I speak I don't see how it could have worked."

"No, it couldn't have worked," Elsie agreed, her voice exhausted from the emotional drain, "and for that I will be eternally sorry."

She took a moment to gather her thoughts before speaking again, noticing how Charles wasn't looking at her at all but staring off at some distant spot in the room. "I do believe that being by your side all this time _has_ been better than not being with you at all – I came to that conclusion years ago. And, despite how I felt when I first arrived, I am grateful to you for encouraging me to come to Downton. But I often felt … well, you _asked_ me to be here, but I just don't think you _wanted_ me to be … at least, not at first."

Charles looked up at her then, and Elsie could see the guilt radiating from his face. "I was so afraid of the family finding out. I had been hiding the 'Cheerful Charlies' from His Lordship for so long, and that must seem to you to be so trivial in comparison, I know … but I wasn't prepared to deal with _this_. But it _is_ true that I told you about the position because I missed you, and also because I knew it would be a wonderful opportunity for you, working in a house as grand as Downton."

He looked down at the floor, ashamed, and leaned forward to place his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together. "And I wanted you to be proud of me, I think. Wanted you to see how well the Abbey was run, how accomplished I'd become in my career. I've always cared for you, Elsie, don't ever doubt that ... that didn't stop just because of what had happened. But I was successful here, and I wanted that for you." He looked up then, smirking at her. "I suppose I knew deep down that we'd still make a formidable team, and that you'd be quite an asset to the house … to me."

"Well, it was big of you to make that decision, but perhaps you could have given me the details _before_ I accepted Her Ladyship's offer," she spat furiously, "instead of putting me through a living hell when I arrived!"

Charles reacted as if he'd been slapped. He said nothing, but his eyes filled with tears once again – this time not unnoticed by Elsie.

"Ach, Charlie," she sighed, shaking her head as she sat back down next to him. "That was rather cruel of me. I apologize."

"I deserved it," he responded, wiping brusquely at his eyes. "There could have been a great deal that I'd done differently. I had no concept of the pain you were suffering. Wait, no … that's untrue. I _did_ realize it, and ignored it, which is immeasurably worse. I put my career and this family ahead of what should have been my _own_ family," he admitted, "and I am ashamed of myself for it and deeply sorry for the hurt I've caused you."

Elsie reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Well, you've made _some_ progress in that regard, you know. I feel like you've been allowing more of your true self to show through these past few years. At first I thought I was imagining it, but once we lost Mr. Crawley …"

"Yes," he whispered. "So much loss, so much sadness and loss of ... _love_." He reached across his chest to place his hand atop hers. "I didn't want us to end that way."

"No, nor did I. So now where do we go?" she asked.

"Now," he said, "perhaps we can find a new way." A pause, then, "Perhaps she should know."

Elsie shook her head slowly. "You know," she said quietly, "she's not our daughter anymore. Truth be told, I may have given birth to her but I don't feel that she has _ever_ been our daughter beyond that. We can watch out for her, _do_ watch out for her, in our own way … but we're not her parents. We gave that right up long ago."

"I'm not so sure," he answered slowly. "Aren't they _all_ our children? I've always thought of them as such."

Elsie chewed thoughtfully on her lip. "So have I, I suppose. They do come to us needing something: caring, a firm hand, direction. But she has opportunities now, the promise of a better life, and people who have loved her like actual parents for a good deal of time. I find that I am grateful for that - for the fact that she's found people that will love her unconditionally." And then a memory came to her. "And you _did_ get to be a proper father to her, the one time she truly needed one."

The thought filled him with pride, and Elsie saw him actually sit a bit taller and nod slightly. "I did."

Charles stood then and reached his hand out toward Elsie. He gently pried her lip out from underneath her teeth and, ever so slowly lest she push him away, he leaned in and softly kissed her, trying to caress the hurt out of the lip she so mercilessly bothered when she was upset.

"Perhaps," he whispered, well aware that they'd now been shut away quite a while in his pantry, "we can decide tomorrow where to go from here."

"Together?" she asked quietly.

"Yes, together. Finally."

oOoOoOoOoOo

Thomas Barrow lay in bed, completely unable to sleep, his thoughts completely taken over by the strange events of the past couple of weeks. First there had been the train accident, followed immediately by his unexpected advancement into the position of butler; he'd managed rather well with that, given that Mrs. Hughes had also been away and he'd had to work alongside of Anna. Thomas certainly wasn't a fan of Mr. Bates, but he had to admit that working with _Mrs._ Bates had gone much more smoothly than he'd anticipated. But, by far, the most significant changes over these past days had been the ones regarding Mr. Carson, who was not _quite_ the same man who'd left Grantham House at the end of the Season.

 _Yes_ , thought Thomas, _the man_ _had most definitely come back a touch different_ , although most below stairs seemed to agree that this was for the better. Mr. Carson had always been a strict and demanding taskmaster, expecting perfection wherever he looked. He was an excellent instructor for anyone that took the time to learn. Thomas had always fared well with the tasks; he knew his job, he was quite particular about how each task should be done, and he truly agreed with Mr. Carson that the outward appearance of the staff should be impeccable. But Thomas was no fool, either; he knew that he'd often sabotaged himself as much as others in the household with his endless scheming, and he knew that had lowered Mr. Carson's perception of him significantly. _But does he_ _ **remember**_ _all that now?_ Well, one thing was certain: Mrs. Hughes could very easily remind the old man, no question about that.

 _And there's the unknown …_ _ **they**_ _are certainly quite familiar these days. Why is that?_ Of course, the heads of staff had always been a bit more at ease with one another than with most others downstairs. She could calm him when he was incensed about something minuscule; he would often come to her in her pantry with tea on particularly stressful days – hell, they had wine or sherry together almost every evening. It made sense, Thomas knew. The two of them were what made Downton run so flawlessly, the invisible filaments that kept it all tied together. And Mrs. Hughes was just as exacting as Mr. Carson – it's the reason Thomas actually (though he daren't admit it to anyone) _liked_ the woman. She didn't accept excuses, she demanded just as much (if not more) from her maids as Mr. Carson did of the footmen, and it was how a place as grand as Downton _should_ be run.

That was exactly why the new-found ease with which the housekeeper and butler interacted bothered him so much: it was completely unlike either of them to be _quite_ so familiar. Their familiarity had progressed far beyond a cup of tea and a friendly chat – no, now it was glances in the hallway, broad smiles when few were paying attention, and Thomas was fairly certain it was also the reason behind the butler's distraction when surrounded by the family. The family might chalk it up to Mr. Carson still being forgetful, but Thomas knew that wasn't the case; the man might not remember everything, but he seemed to have just as firm a grasp on how to do his job as he'd always had.

 _So, **why** the change? _ At first Thomas thought Mrs. Hughes was babying Mr. Carson, but he soon realized that the familiarity wasn't stemming so much from Mrs. Hughes as it was from _Mr. Carson_ – and that completely befuddled the under butler. Carson had become such a changed man that he was allowing his professional demeanor to take on more of a personal nature, and no one had seen it coming.

A sudden shout coming from down the hallway startled him from his reverie. The depth of the voice left no question in Thomas's mind that it was Mr. Carson who was yelling. _God, the man must be having a nightmare!_ Thomas jumped from his bed and pulled on his dressing robe, tying it as he passed through the door and headed to three doors down to Mr. Carson's room.

Without hesitation, Thomas threw the door open and approached the bed. He saw the man thrashing about wildly.

"Mr. Carson," he said quietly, shaking the man's shoulder. "Mr. Carson! Wake up!"

Charles's eyes flew open, and Thomas saw an almost tortured look in his gaze. "Mr. Carson, it was only a dream."

Charles's hand emerged from the blanket and he rubbed it down his face. "A dream … oh, no … not again," he murmured.

Thomas understood immediately, his time spent on the front during the war giving him an intimate knowledge of what the man must be going through. "An awful dream, no doubt, Mr. Carson," he said softly. He moved over to the desk and poured the man a glass of water. "I have them as well, although not as frequently now as I used to."

"All those people," Charles whispered, "screaming …"

Thomas just nodded, handing him the glass of water. "Drink this – it'll help," he instructed. Charles sat up and drank the contents down slowly, and his focus on performing the action without choking or spilling _did_ calm him a bit.

"Thank you, Mr. Barrow," he said quietly. "I am sorry to have woken you."

Just then a faint knock sounded on the door, but it swung open before either man could respond. "Mr. Carson, whatever is – oh, hello Mr. Barrow." Elsie swiftly made her way past him to the bedside, examining the butler for outward signs of distress. "Mr. Carson?" she enquired.

"A bad dream, that's all," he answered. "There's no need to worry."

The sound of other footsteps in the hall made their way to Thomas's ears and he quickly headed out to intercept whoever else was heading their way. Elsie could hear his voice in the hallway, calming but assured: "It was just a bad dream, you can go back to sleep … yes, he's just fine." The under butler returned a moment later.

"Thank you," Elsie said to him, and both understood that her thanks was not only for him handling the situation but also for not revealing to anyone that she, too, had gone into Mr. Carson's bedroom in the middle of the night. Elsie wasn't _sure_ why Mr. Barrow was being so kind, but she had an inkling – one that Mr. Barrow himself was unknowingly about to confirm.

"You're welcome." Turning, Thomas addressed the butler. "Mr. Carson, the dreams you're having are quite normal after what you've experienced. I … well, I understand. After the war …" His voice trailed off and his eyes became unfocused for a moment before he brought his thoughts back to the present. "It will get better."

Charles looked uncertain. "But Mr. Lang … it's a similar thing, isn't it?" he asked quietly.

"You're not Mr. Lang – he … well, it was different. Your experience should be easier to overcome, your memories … well," he finished abruptly, not wanting to say what was in his mind – not wishing to speak of how Mr. Carson hadn't been forced to kill or harm others. He didn't want to have to explain that the horrors that the butler had seen in his nightmares weren't as bad as what Mr. Lang had seen. He didn't want to talk about Mr. Lang at all, because those images that lived in Mr. Lang's head had been so much like what lived in Thomas's own mind, and he'd never share _those_ with anyone else as long as he lived.

Thomas looked up at the housekeeper, who was listening intently and observing both men warily. "I leave him to your care, Mrs. Hughes," he said kindly. Elsie was startled to notice none of his usual maliciousness, and she nodded her thanks.

"You may leave the door open, Mr. Barrow. I'll be right behind you."

Thomas nodded and made his departure.

"Oh, Charlie," she whispered, approaching his bed and grasping his hand. "Will you tell me?"

He sighed, a look of terror lingering in his eyes. "Elsie, it was so horrible. I don't want you to be burdened with the details." Then, as an afterthought, "I've made you suffer so much already."

"Nonsense," she said matter-of-factly. "And no more of that. You need rest, Charlie, and perhaps, if these nightmares don't improve with time, another visit with the doctor." She reached up then, placing her cool hand on his cheek. "But don't you _ever_ feel that you cannot confide in me, my dear man. We may be still discovering who we truly are, after all these years, but we'll do so _together_."

Charles turned his face and kissed her palm, then closed his eyes and sighed softly. "Alright."

 **TBC …**


	16. Nighttime Comforts

**A/N: Not really beta'd but it goes with the last chapter ("I Loved You Once in Silence").**

 **Betcha thought Elsie just LEFT Charles in his room, huh?**

 **Thank you for all the reviews and PM's. I really am enjoying reading them all! :) I am STUNNED at how MANY of them there are!**

 **We're officially in the part of the fic that was the brain(dream)child of YellowBrickRoad/theladychelsieofdownton. Shout-out to her for the idea, and to silhouettedswallow for letting me know the memory below read through clearly.**

 **xx**

"Mr. Carson," whispered Elsie sharply.

The butler snapped his head up to attention. Again. He was struggling to keep his eyes open, something that was rarely an issue for him. Charles was being haunted by his dreams – a result of the trauma of the accident, Mr. Barrow had said – and they weren't getting better; in fact, they were immeasurably worse last night than they'd ever been before. Not only had his horrible nightmares about the train wreck been keeping him from sleeping, but now they included memories of his past with Elsie, his sleeping brain twisting and distorting the details until nothing but flashes of fear and sadness remained. He'd slept remarkably well last night _after_ having woken half the servants with his shouting, but he had many nights of bad dreams to make up for and the fatigue was rapidly catching up to him. He looked to his right, where Elsie sat - at his right hand, supporting and helping him as she always was - and he allowed himself to give her a small smile and a nod of thanks.

She returned the smile in kind, then scanned the table to see if anyone had noticed. _Not likely,_ she thought, only to see Mr. Barrow looking at her oddly. _Well, damn._ Elsie picked up her spoon and dug heartily into her porridge, trying in vain to drag her thoughts away from last night ...

" _... don't you EVER feel that you cannot confide in me, my dear man. We may still be making our way through this, but we'll do so TOGETHER."_

" _Alright."_

 _Charles felt that he could get lost in the feel of her palm against his face. He opened his eyes and looked up at her, the pleading gaze knocking the breath right out of her. "Elsie ... would you … stay with me?"_

 _He saw a flash of suspicion in her eyes before it vanished immediately; he was afraid, very afraid indeed, and she saw it._

" _Not all night," he added quickly, "and not like that. But … perhaps just until I fall asleep?"_

 _She nodded, and felt his cheek collapse into her palm as relief overtook him._

" _I feel as though I'm a boy again, begging Mama to check for ghouls under the bed," he whispered. "I've never been this afraid of anything as an adult - afraid of falling asleep, for God's sake." He looked down at his hands, which were folded in his lap. "I must sound like a fool …"_

" _No," she cooed, running her fingertips through the hair at his temple before dropping her hand back by her side. "Charlie, I'll hear none of that. I shall stay, if that's what you wish." She moved to close the door, and then returned to his bedside. She was silent, staring at him as he stared back. He seemed to be waiting for her to move, a look of confusion evident in his furrowed brow. She chuckled. "Well, c'mon … budge over then, will ye?"_

 _He heard the thickening of her brogue, just a slight hint but one he knew well and recognized as a sign that she was quite tired. It took a moment for what she'd said to register, his eyebrows flying up once it did._

" _What? Here? In the bed? I rather thought the chair …" his voice murmured, trailing off as he waved his hand in the general direction of the chair that sat in the corner of the room._

" _Move," she instructed, making a shooing motion with her hands. "We'll manage, and don't you worry – I'll leave once you've nodded off." She nibbled her lip, considering. "You'll fall asleep more easily this way, I think," she added quietly._

 _Charles sighed. "Alright, then. Perhaps … if you sit on top of the blankets?" he suggested._

" _As you wish," she replied calmly._

 _He moved over toward the edge of the bed and lay back down on one of the pillows, turned on his side so as to open up as much space as possible for her._

 _Elsie sat on top of the bedding as requested, her back against the headboard, and Charles silently pushed his second pillow behind her back to make her more comfortable. She reached her arm out towards him and scooted down a bit until she was comfortable, and Charles tucked himself in by her side._

 _Like a child, he thought again, but this time it didn't bother him quite as much. He felt … comforted … peaceful._

 _She smoothed the wrinkles in his pajamas for a few minutes, lost in her thoughts, and then moved her hand to the top of his arm and caressed it lightly. His head was resting on her side and Charles began to relax. He had a vague sensation of wanting to just wrap his arms around her and pull her close, but he was loathe to say anything that would give away his feelings. She sensed his discomfort, though, and silently offered her left hand to him, which he grasped in his right, intertwining their fingers as their joined hands rested upon her stomach._

" _I cannot tell you how many days I dreamed of this, of being here with you," Elsie whispered. "And here we are at last ... although it's certainly not what I'd imagined."_

" _Dare I ask what you imagined?" Charles ventured boldly._

" _I'm not sure you need to know," she answered with a smirk. She chuckled at his frustrated sigh, and gave in. "Ach, Charlie … it's the comfort of it all that I've craved, to be honest. Being here, with you, being able to soothe you like this. 'Mr. Carson' never would have allowed it, no matter how much I wanted it."_

 _His eyes closed heavily as he settled himself more comfortably into her side. The impropriety of the entire situation didn't faze either of them; if anything, Elsie felt more comfortable in that moment than she had most other times she'd spent alone with him these past many years._

" _Maybe 'Mr. Carson' has changed," he murmured. He breathed deep, calming breaths, trying to take in her presence in any way possible for as long as she remained there, holding him._

" _Maybe," she answered thoughtfully._

 _She felt the change in his body the instant he fell asleep, his weight suddenly heavier on her side, his arm sinking into her thigh as his fingers involuntarily loosened their grip around hers._

" _Hopefully," she whispered._

 _When Charles woke at dawn, she was gone. He rolled over and placed his face into the extra pillow he'd been clutching, inhaling deeply and catching her familiar scent: lavender, lemons, and something that he recognized instantly as just 'Elsie' ..._

"Mrs. Hughes?" he asked quietly, aware that now it was _him_ keeping _her_ from drifting off. For the first time that day, he wondered if _she'd_ managed any sleep at all … and at what time, exactly, she had left his room.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Carson, what was it you were saying?" Elsie blushed faintly at being caught out, knowing that he'd seen her thoughts of last night written all over her face. But they were thoughts that she could tell were running through his own mind, according to the look in his eyes, a look that was a mixture of wariness, understanding, and something she dared not identify with a word as long as they were sitting at the servants' table and surrounded by the rest of the staff.

"I was merely asking about the day ahead. What have you got planned?"

"Well, nothing _too_ out of the ordinary, except that I need to spend a significant amount of time going through my morning rounds. I neglected that a bit yesterday, I'm afraid, trying to get that bloody ledger sorted - which I _finally_ did, I'm happy to say. Once I've finished with that it's business as usual, I suppose, including the dreaded linen inventory. And you?"

"His Lordship is expecting a visit from the group that's trying to have a war memorial constructed. I expect that they're coming to ask him to lead the group, of course. He's asked that I be there personally in the event that they wish to have tea."

Elsie's heart sang when she saw the look of pride on his face as he uttered that last bit, happy for him that he was comfortable once again with the aspects of his more recent life. Getting back to any physical work had been somewhat of a greater challenge than he'd anticipated, and the frustration had certainly been counterproductive for a man who was supposed to be more carefully avoiding stress; the fact that he was now looking forward to being able to carry out his job - as opposed to dreading it - was a welcome change.

"Of course he has," she replied kindly. "I'm sure _he's_ happier than almost anyone that you're feeling yourself again."

Charles hummed in agreement, then cleared his throat and rose to dismiss the staff. Amidst the scraping of chairs and the cacophony of bells that began ringing simultaneously, he turned and addressed Elsie one last time before heading to his pantry.

"If you've the time later on, perhaps we could escape for a walk? I'm not sure why, but lately I feel the confines of my pantry to be somewhat maddening. Except for his Lordship's meeting and finishing the inventory of the wine delivery, I'm relatively free."

"I'd love to, Mr. Carson," she replied with a wary smile, her eyes darting about to see if anyone had overheard. Noting no one around, she continued, "I'll find you once I've finished with the linens."

He reached out and tapped his hand lightly to her elbow in agreement, not daring to squeeze it or do or say anything else in so public a spot. "Excellent. I look forward to it, Mrs. Hughes," he answered, winking at her once again but disappearing before she had the time to chastise him for it.

Elsie shook her head and sat back down, seemingly focused on the contents of her teacup when her mind was really a million miles away. _He's gone utterly mad!_

She didn't notice Mrs. Patmore enter the servants' hall and didn't even see her approach the table until the woman pulled out a chair and plopped unceremoniously into it.

"Good morning, Mrs. Patmore." Elsie managed to wipe smile off of her face, but not nearly in time for it to have gone unnoticed.

"It appears that way now, doesn't it?" came the cook's reply. The quiet tone of her voice gave Elsie pause, and ignited a spark of apprehension … the cook was _rarely_ quiet. "And why is it, Mrs. Hughes, that this particular morning is so lovely?"

"I've no idea what you're talking about," Elsie said. "Unless you're referring to how happy I am to finally be caught up on my paperwork. I can assure you I'm most certainly not looking forward to today's linen inventory."

"No, I didn't think it was that. Mrs. Hughes, you just spent the better part of that breakfast looking like the cat that ate the canary!" She paused a moment, looking around to be sure no one had entered the room and overheard her. "So I'm wondering what, exactly, has placed that broad smile on your face, hm?"

Elsie said nothing as she looked down at her hands, now clutched tightly together in her lap. She didn't trust herself to speak, afraid that once she started it would be impossible to stop. And of all the people she didn't want to tell of her precarious relationship with Mr. Carson, it was the kindly woman now seated in Miss Baxter's chair.

"Honestly, woman," Mrs. Patmore whispered, "whatever the two of you have going on lately is _showing_. Mark my words, I doubt that I'm the only one who's noticed. You'd do well to hide it _much_ better than you did this morning."

Elsie chewed so hard on her lip that she was worried she'd drawn blood. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a brief moment, steadying herself, trying to figure out a way to tell only a fraction of the powerful truth.

"Something is _different_ ," she allowed. "I'll not deny that, but that's all I'll say for the moment." She raised her head and looked the cook directly in the eyes. "At some point, I promise to tell you what it is … but, right now, I simply cannot explain it, even to myself."

"I'll hold you to that," Mrs. Patmore said with a smile. "I'm rather looking forward to it, you know."

Elsie nodded briefly in acknowledgement, hoping that her face gave away nothing of her true thoughts.

 _You say that now, Mrs. Patmore,_ she thought _. But what will happen when you know the truth?_

Elsie was quite afraid of the answer to that question, knowing that this friendship that she and the cook had shared, the precious camaraderie and confidence in one another that they'd somehow forged over the years through fights, war, scandal, and illness, had been on the line from the moment that Charles had been in hospital, asking to see the family that no one but Elsie had known existed.

 **So ... yes, it is Daisy. Daisy - a nickname for "Margaret." Lots of you asked if the** _ **flowers**_ **were daisies. I hadn't actually thought of that, but it was a lovely suggestion, so please make it so in your own minds if you so choose.**


	17. A Mother's Anguish

**A/N: Here we are again! I've decided to post these as they're finished. That's good in that you get them faster; perhaps it's bad, though, as they've not been beta-checked. You can decide.**

 **This isn't a terribly happy chapter - apologies in advance.**

 **Special thank you for the reviews - omg we're almost at 300, I cannot even fathom that! - and a particular shout-out to those guest reviewers to whom I cannot reply individually. I wish I knew who you were!**

 **xx,**

 **CSotA**

 **P.S. meetmeinstlouie ficced a great companion piece to this story - go and check it out on her page! xx**

* * *

 **Song choice:** _ **"I Will Never Be the Same" - Melissa Etheridge.**_ _ **'Tis on my "Chelsie Potpourri" Spotify.**_

 _Secrets of your life_

 _I never wanted for myself,_

 _But you guarded them like a lie_

 _Placed up on the highest shelf..._

 _But I loved you,_

 _And then I lost you,_

 _And I will never be the same._

* * *

As the day went on, it became increasingly clear that no walk through the gardens would be had. Charles had kept glancing out the window when he was preparing for the war memorial committee to arrive and had noticed clouds rolling rapidly in along the horizon. The guests arrived and left again before the rain began, but Charles couldn't help but think that the downpour that ensued, complete with crashing thunder and brilliant lightning, reflected his feelings about how the afternoon had gone.

 _ME? They want ME to lead the committee?_

He was surprised, the announcement having struck like the brightest bolt; the silence that followed, however - from His Lordship, in particular - had been more deafening than the loudest thunder.

He still couldn't believe it.

Evidently, the villagers believed they _knew_ him. They were comfortable with him, thought he could be a bridge between the Granthams and themselves, the perfect conduit to span the chasm-sized societal gap. Charles knew that this wasn't even due to his new, slightly more relaxed personality ( _although that could be part of it_ , he allowed) but rather that it was the result of years of interactions in shops, the post office, church, and even at the annual cricket match. They'd formed an opinion of him, and it was one that appeared to be quite favorable. It was an honor to have been asked, to know that they thought him capable of leading a committee that would be making a decision benefiting generations to come, building a monument to honor those whose deaths had left a gaping hole in so many families, one that had left behind widows, childless parents, and empty seats at servants' tables across the land.

But the look that had passed over Lord Grantham's face, like a ghost – fleeting, but definitely seen by his butler – had bothered Charles deeply. He knew the man better than anyone except for Lady Grantham and, perhaps, Bates. Charles knew that His Lordship had expected to be asked to lead the committee – hell, even _Charles_ had assumed that would happen. Robert Crawley might not always be in control of what happened within the Abbey, but he was truly the figurehead of the estate outside of its walls. And after the debacle with His Lordship's Lieutenant position during the war, Charles was uneasy allowing the control of this committee to be taken out from under the man.

 _And yet here I am,_ Charles thought, _actually considering this_. He'd been left both shocked and wondering … and, if he was completely honest, a tiny bit proud of the suggestion that they felt he'd do a good job, that he was the better choice to represent the village's wishes. His Lordship's words echoed in his ears: _They want Carson._

And now he could hear _her_ voice penetrating his mind; the echo of it had haunted him throughout the day, but it was especially present now: _'Mr. Carson never would have allowed it.'_ And she'd been completely correct: Mr. Carson never would have allowed a great _many_ things to have happened … _before_. But Charles had been correct, too: _Mr. Carson has, indeed, changed._

He had no idea what to do and cursed the dark, pouring skies. He wanted to ask Elsie about it, to get her opinion about it all. He needed to roll the whole thing around in his mind, to be sure, but then he needed to get _her_ somewhat-removed perspective, knowing that she would be able to provide much-needed clarity in the way she always managed to do. Even when they were not in agreement, she always gave him her honest opinion, and usually something to think about on top of that. As he reflected on it, he wondered at what point in their lives that had begun to happen, wondered when he'd come to the conclusion that major decisions were often best made after consulting her. _Like a wife,_ he thought, the irony hitting him full-force.

The thought was a comfort to him and he appreciated it, held it within his heart like a delicate thing to be cherished, and it ignited something else deep within him, something he'd thought long-since buried.

 _Longing._

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

Elsie could have cried when she heard the rain begin to pound down on the roof of the attic rooms. She'd run up to grab a warmer coat than the one currently hanging in her sitting room, thinking that she and Charles could still manage an escape for a quick stroll through the gardens _before_ the skies opened up. She'd been wrong, obviously, and immediately regretted not rushing through her linen inventory, only to chastise herself for the thought as soon as it had made its way through her mind.

It seemed that the days when Elsie Hughes put work above all else were gone for good. She now had this new thing, this glorious, precious, glowing _thing_ that completely consumed her mind at all hours. For years Elsie had shoved her true feelings away, stifling them until they had suffocated, only to bring them out in the most miniscule of ways that precious day at the beach. But she had felt them explode in her heart the moment that Charles had admitted what he remembered, and she knew there was no going back now.

She'd expected to be infuriated by his remembering, by the past being thrust in her face once again, the past that had allowed this strange friendship between them but not much more. But he'd done something she never expected: he'd taken _responsibility_ , taken part of the burden off of her shoulders, and admitted that he, too, had spent the past two decades regretting how things had been, regretting the situation in which they'd found themselves, and hoping it had been different – regretting the choices he'd made, and how he'd put the family before her. Before their child. And with that admission, her heart sang.

Elsie knew it was imprudent to focus on her own happiness, knew she needed to redirect her thoughts and feelings for the sake of her job if nothing else. She also knew that her friendship with Mrs. Patmore – and, by extension, with everyone else on the staff – was bound to be precarious at best if their secret ever got out.

That thought hurt. It hurt a great deal, and Elsie wasn't too proud to admit it. But alongside the happiness she felt in knowing that Charles still loved and cared for her deeply, a seed of something else had started growing in her heart: simply put, she wanted her daughter back. She wanted a chance to be a part of her life in a way that was far greater than the way in which she'd taken part thus far. She wanted to be more than Daisy's disciplinarian, more than just the shrewd, plotting housekeeper that instilled a shard of fear in the girl, more than just a comforting ear when Daisy was suffering under Mrs. Patmore's wrath once again. Elsie knew that, over the years, Daisy had come to respect and trust her more, realizing that there was kindness underneath the sternness, and Elsie felt they'd come a long way, she and Daisy … but now she wanted it all. She just wasn't sure that she could _have_ it all.

How could she take that preciousness away from Mrs. Patmore?

Daisy may have had a rough start when she first came to the Abbey, and goodness knew she'd struggled with how to be her own person, but she was now a strong young woman who was pursuing a career and an education. Despite her rough beginnings, the girl was flourishing in ways Elsie never could have dreamed for her, and she knew that was mostly due to how the often-kindly cook had taken Daisy under her wing … and had mothered her in the absence of anyone else.

Elsie needed to talk to Charles, needed to ask his advice and get _his_ perspective on this entire situation. He might not understand, never having held their precious Daisy (née Margaret) in his arms as a wee bairn, never having fed her from his own body as she clutched onto him, comforted. Then again, he just might understand the craving for warmth, for family, for unconditional love. It struck her how much she relied on his opinion, and she wondered not for the first time when that had begun, when she'd started to desire his input regarding major decisions, when she'd become reluctant to make them without first consulting him. _Like a husband_ , she thought, the irony hitting her full-force.

The thought was comforting to her, after all these years lived with long-hidden feelings. She acknowledged the comfort, and also the other thing that was welling up from deep within, the thing she realized last night that she would now struggle to contain.

 _Longing._

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

The family had finally finished dinner, and Lord Grantham had excused Charles from after-dinner drink service - a blessing for them both, really, after the way the committee meeting had gone. But as Mr. Branson was out, His Lordship simply claimed that he saw no need for Charles to preside over 'whisky service for one' in the library.

As Charles made his way down to his pantry, he spied a curious scene: Elsie was standing in the corridor, her back to him, peeking through the window into the kitchen although she, herself, remained relatively hidden from anyone's view from within; Mr. Bates was at the servants' table, seemingly focused on a bit of work, but Charles knew the man enough by now to realize that he, too, was listening to (and occasionally sneaking a peek at) what was unfolding in the kitchen, the door having been left open so that the heat from the ovens could circulate.

Moving to stand closer to her, Charles finally took in Elsie's appearance. The woman was reining in her emotions with incredible effort, and he was fairly certain that no one except for him would have noticed anything terribly amiss. It was something to do with the tightness of her lips, the extra-straight posture, and the way her hands were by her sides, clenching the fabric of her skirts as opposed to being held in front of her waist the way they often were. Her entire being exuded a feeling of extreme anguish, he realized, not one of fury as others might have thought upon seeing her.

Charles turned his head to peer through the window, unsure of whether Elsie had even seen him until he felt her move ever so slightly backward, her shoulder barely brushing his arm. He felt more than heard her deep intake of breath, and then his ears picked up on the voices: Daisy, seemingly quite distraught, with Mrs. Patmore desperately trying to comfort her.

"It's no good, Mrs. Patmore!" the girl exclaimed, shoving a book furiously across the table. "I can't understand it!"

"But you _will_ , Daisy," the cook replied calmly, handing the young woman a handkerchief to dry her tears. "Miss Bunting has faith in you, as do I and many others under this roof."

"Yes, but it's all for nothing, innit it? I'm never going to use any of this once I leave here, _if_ I leave here."

Mrs. Patmore's face fell. "Daisy? _Are_ you planning to leave?"

Daisy shrugged. "Who knows? Mr. Mason has offered me the farm, but I don't know that I want that life." She sniffled rather unceremoniously. "Do you think I should stay?"

"Oh, Daisy, my girl, I don't know. You are happy here, aren't you?"

"Oh, yes, Mrs. Patmore. This house has been _everything_ to me. Before I came here … well, you have no idea." More tears fell, and Daisy dipped her head to hide them. "It were _awful_ ," she said quietly.

"Well, you've certainly grown a family here, love, and I daresay Mr. Mason loves you as if you were his own." She reached out and put her arm around the maid, whose sobbing had started up again.

"Stick with your studies, Daisy. You've shown that they're not interfering with your work here. Didn't Mr. Molesley offer his assistance if you needed it?" The girl nodded into Mrs. Patmore's shoulder. "Then accept it. He's a kind man, Mr. Molesley."

"I know," Daisy whispered, picking up her head again. "Thank you," she murmured. "I know you're right. I just get so fed up sometimes. I feel like I was never meant to amount to much."

"You're meant for great things, Daisy Mason, mark my words. Great things," the cook affirmed, nodding and smiling at her girl. "I couldn't be more proud of you if you were my own daughter."

Daisy smiled then. "I often wish I were."

A sob escaped Elsie's lips and she almost lunged at the window. Charles could hold back no longer. He reached his arm around her and took her by the elbow, squeezing her in a half-hug as pulled her away from the window and toward his pantry.

"Come Elsie," he murmured, his voice carrying faintly down the corridor. "It's not the time ... not yet." He allowed her to pass through the door ahead of him, and he promptly closed it behind them.

By then, neither Mr. Carson nor Mrs. Hughes remembered Mr. Bates's presence in the servants' hall, something for which the valet was immensely grateful as he knew it would only add to the delicacy of the situation. His polishing now completely abandoned, he reflected on the scene that had just played out before his eyes and ears.

Mr. Bates had always been a keen observer, and he suspected the truth immediately - or most of it, anyhow. His heart broke for Mrs. Hughes, the kind woman who took the entire lot of servants under her wing and cared for them as only a mother could. _How painful that must have been_ , he thought, _if I'm correct in what I suspect_.

He'd always thought there was something about Daisy, as though she were special, somehow important to the housekeeper in a way that none of the others were. With his wife, to be sure, Mrs. Hughes was loving and kind, guiding Anna in small ways and supporting her in great ones. But it was Daisy over whom the woman seemed to keep the closest watch, Daisy with whom she'd been sharper of tongue and quicker to judge as the years had moved on, Daisy whose studies she had wholeheartedly supported contrary to the opinions of most of the other staff … and Daisy whom she'd comforted in her arms on the awful night of Lady Sybil's death, as only a mother could.

He sighed deeply, knowing that however this all played out, it would be a miracle if they all emerged unscathed.

* * *

 **If you'd be so kind, I'd love to hear your thoughts!**


	18. A Journey Begun

**A/N: Okay, this one is weird. Hugs to brenna-louise for beta proofing on the fly, and for reassuring me I'd not lost my mind here.**

 **The song is a live version of Neil Diamond's "Yes I Will/Lady Madgalene" and is on my Spotify "Chelsie Potpourri" list but it's a live version. The music starts at 1:30. I've chosen portions that I think are rather applicable to Charles and Elsie and this entire situation. I love Neil ... using him again later on in another chapter, too. :)**

 **Thank you all for the amazing reviews! They really have driven the direction of the story.**

 **CSotA**

 _Once upon a passing night dream_

 _He beheld a mystic image_

 _Bathed in blue reflection_

 _There he stood and made his song…_

 _Love was in this strange house_

 _And he knew he did belong,_

 _Yes he did belong …_

"Elsie," Charles murmured. The power of his voice reverberated through her body as he held her tightly, well aware that she'd simply collapse into a sobbing heap if he released her at all.

"I can't," came her choked voice. "I can't bear it, Charlie." She was struggling to speak, struggling to _breathe_ , hiccups coming in the midst of the sobs and the words. "Not anymore."

"Shhh …" Charles wasn't quite sure what to do. He'd never seen Elsie this distraught, not even the day when they'd parted, unable to find a sensible way to make it together and raise the child.

' _The child.' For heaven's sake, man, use her name. Our Margaret. Our DAISY._ He shook his head in frustration and confusion, bits and pieces of it all still a bit fuzzy but becoming clearer every day.

He'd always had difficulty seeing the girl as their own. Well, except for in those small, sacred moments when Daisy would smile, proud of something she'd accomplished, or in the times when she'd show kindness to one who was perhaps undeserving of it. In _those_ instances it would hit him full-on that she was, indeed, Elsie's daughter through and through.

And oh, but the girl could be quick to temper! Charles had seen and heard that more than most, his pantry door often open and his afternoons frequently spent at his desk or at the silver cabinet. He'd hear her complaining about trivial things, muttering under her breath, being stubborn when she felt she was right about something and unwilling to accept that she was wrong until someone calmly and patiently explained it to her. Oh, yes, those were times when he'd be forced to see that she was _his_ daughter, too.

But then Daisy would utter something that Mrs. Patmore would say, or she'd chide the new kitchen maid for doing something foolish when the girl should have known better, and the thought would slip away, pushed aside by the appearance of the motherly presence of cook, the side of herself that she would show only to Daisy.

And who was he to decide what formed the personality of a child, anyhow? The young ladies upstairs all shared the same parentage and yet were as different in personality and temperament as the day was long.

 _What a mess this has become,_ he concluded. He wished for the millionth time that he hadn't been involved in that train wreck at all - not because of the injury to his person, but because of what it had opened up in his mind. In his _heart._ He felt simultaneously freer and more trapped: freer to admit the love he felt for Elsie, that he had felt it deep down all these years; freer to admit that they'd had an opportunity for a family and a _life_ together, and that he'd squandered it; but more trapped by the lives they _had_ built, by the choices he had been responsible for, and by the lie they'd buried in the kitchens of the Abbey from the moment Elsie had managed to get Daisy through the doors, this daughter who'd once been theirs, now reclaimed … only not quite.

' _She was abandoned, and abused, and needs an opportunity' ..._ that's what Elsie had said. _Well_ , he allowed with a painful lurch of his heart, _at least she didn't lie to me._

Despite all his pondering, Charles knew that in this moment, with this woman he loved more than life itself shedding tears that were soaking his chest, it didn't matter what he could or could not see in Daisy, what her past had been, or how far she'd come as she'd grown into the strong, determined, kind woman that she was now. The only thing that mattered was finding a way to move on, to make peace … and to right the wrong he'd committed all those years ago.

 _You made a horrible choice then, old man. Don't make the same mistake AGAIN._

 _Cold it was within the marrow_

 _Waiting like a wounded sparrow_

 _Helpless and forgotten…_

 _Sing your song you fool, you dreamer_

 _Cross the space that lies between us_

 _Cast the stones of fortune_

 _For the journey has begun,_

 _Yes, it has begun ..._

"Mrs. Hughes has returned from the village, Milady. Shall I tell her you wish to speak with her?" Carson asked.

"Yes," replied the Dowager. "And Carson?"

"Yes, Milady?"

"Once the tea has been brought, do see that we are not disturbed."

"Of course, Milady."

Violet remained seated at the table in the garden, contemplating the conversation she wished to have with Mrs. Hughes. No, not wished to have … _needed_ to have. She pulled her coat more tightly around her as though she could ward off the chill, even though she knew that it wasn't coming from the outside air but from the discomfort of the thoughts that currently resided in her mind. She had brought with her news that would be both shocking and sickening, she would end up being a messenger of fear and anger, and there would be no way to soften the blow she had to deliver.

Violet knew how others saw her. She was well aware that most of the servants (and half her family) saw her as too outspoken, as quick-witted but also rude at times, and as generally uncaring about the lives of those who worked away in her home. The first two were unfailingly true and she used them as a shield, a way of protecting herself and her true feelings, unwilling to share them with most of the world. But Violet cared a great deal about the wellbeing of her staff and, by extension, the current staff of the Abbey; Carson knew this, she realized, and she knew he valued her care. He always saw right through her, as had her granddaughters and, more recently, Cousin Isobel, and he understood her need for rules and tradition in a way that perhaps no one else did. She only hoped that Carson's perception of her - the bits he'd surely communicated to Mrs. Hughes over the years through the friendship that Violet knew they shared - was positive enough that both women would make it through this meeting relatively unscathed.

 _No matter,_ thought Violet. _Here she comes now._

Elsie's feet crunched on the gravel as she made her way to the table and chairs in the garden. _Two clandestine garden meetings in just as many weeks_ , she thought. As difficult as the conversation with Dr. Clarkson had been, Elsie wished fervently that it could be him sitting at the table and watching her approach. _Anyone_ would have been an improvement to the woman who was actually there.

Elsie didn't know many of the family very well at all, but the Dowager was the darkest horse of them all. The woman had not been living in the Abbey when Elsie had begun working as head housemaid all those years ago, and she rarely ever had time to interact with her. The most Elsie knew of the Dowager Countess was from the bits and bobs she heard from Charles, Mr. Branson, Lady Sybil and, occasionally, Lady Edith. They painted a rather complex picture, one that wasn't particularly favorable despite the fact that those four people seemed to _like_ the woman, and that thought left Elsie rather nervous about why she'd been summoned.

"Good afternoon, Milady. Mr. Carson informed me that you requested my presence." She gave a little curtsey, then stood stock-straight as she waited for a reply.

"I did, Mrs. Hughes," came the reply. "Please," Violet continued, waving a gloved hand toward the empty chair at the table, "join me, won't you? I've asked Carson to have tea sent. Pardon my choice of venue, but what I have to discuss with you needs to remain as private as possible."

"As you wish, Milady," Elsie replied deferentially. She was rather uncomfortable with being in an unknown situation, seated at a table with a woman she barely knew. _The 'Old Bat,'_ she thought with an inward smirk. She was anxious to know what the old woman had to say, and had a vague suspicion that the conversation would have to do with Charles. It was no secret that Elsie knew him better than anyone else below stairs; perhaps he was ill again? But no, she couldn't even think of anything that the Dowager would want to discuss about him, nothing that the old woman would know of about which Elsie might be in the dark; after all, Elsie knew that _she_ was now considered the fount of knowledge regarding the butler, ever since he'd requested her presence at the hospital. _Perhaps that's it,_ she thought. _Perhaps she's hoping that I will give HER information. Fat chance._

Just then, her thoughts were interrupted the sound of what she knew were Charles's footsteps. She turned abruptly, her eyes confirming what her ears had told her, and she wondered why he was bringing the tea himself instead of having sent Mr. Barr- _Ohhh,_ she thought. _Of course. He's just as nervous about this meeting as I am. The garden, the secrecy, the demand to take tea with the housekeeper. Yes, perhaps it is a wise decision to serve the tea himself as opposed to delegating it to anyone else._

"Tea, Milady." Charles set the tray on the table, giving a minute raise of his eyebrow in Elsie's direction, and understanding the reply her eyes sent.

 _I have no earthly idea why I am here. Do you?_

He closed his eyes briefly in answer: _No._

Charles reached for the teapot, aware that both women were watching his every move. He poured Lady Violet's tea as he'd always done - black, no sugar - and was halfway through preparing Elsie's when he realized that he was being watched. One sideways glance at the Dowager's raised eyebrow and half-smirk told him he'd been caught out. _But we work together - of course I know how she takes her tea,_ he thought madly. _There's nothing strange there ..._

As Charles handed her the cup, Elsie tried valiantly to not touch his fingers in any way, for it wouldn't do to have the Dowager suspecting anything out of the ordinary. Goodness, the man had just poured her tea as if he did it every day. _Well, he_ _ **does**_ _, just about,_ she thought. Elsie often took care of the tea at the servants' table, but Charles _always_ brought her tea in her sitting room when she was having a particularly difficult day, and he never let her prepare it herself then.

As she looked up at the Dowager's face, however, Elsie realized it was already a lost cause. The woman pursed her lips, suspicion encroaching upon her otherwise stern gaze. She sipped her tea and dismissed Charles immediately.

"You may go, Carson, thank you."

"As you wish, Milady," he replied. On his way by, he shot Elsie one last, desperate look: _Good luck._

Elsie sipped her tea carefully, letting the warmth calm and soothe her.

"Mrs. Hughes, I am sure you're wondering why I've invited you to meet with me today," Violet began cautiously. "I wish it were a happy circumstance that led up to it but, alas, that is not the case."

"No, I wouldn't have suspected as much, Milady."

Violet breathed a deep sigh, then began. "Mrs. Hughes, I am aware that your service to my son and his family have been beyond reproach since your arrival at Downton. You've built a reputation for being stern but fair, and kind when needed."

 _Oh, my God … surely I'm not being let go? No, that makes no sense. It's not HER house now. Then what …?_

"Thank you, Milady," Elsie replied warily. "Mr. Carson and I make a rather good team, I will say. It is kind of you to acknowledge my work."

"Yes, well, it was important for you to hear that before I got to the real reason for my visit."

"Milady?"

Violet reached into her reticule and removed a dog-eared envelope. From it she withdrew two sheets of paper that looked as though they'd been unfolded and refolded hundreds of times, as if the woman hadn't been able to keep from reading their contents over and over. Silently, she passed the papers to Elsie.

"I received this in the post last week," Violet said softly, "and I thought you should know."

Elsie placed her teacup on its saucer, the gentle rattling sound making her realize that she was trembling in trepidation and fear. She pried open the paper, scanned the contents, and somehow managed to keep the contents of her stomach contained.

… _housekeeper … illegitimate child … surely you knew … could be quite a scandal … payment within one week … no police …_

"Oh." Elsie swallowed, tried to speak, but absolutely no words would form in her mind. She felt the heat of embarrassment and shame flood her face, felt the Dowager's eyes boring a hole into her, and concentrated on breathing properly.

 _Oh, my God. Why now? Why is this all coming back_ _ **now?**_ The coincidence of the timing was unfathomable.

"Mrs. Hughes? I know this must come as quite a shock. I presume it is true?"

Elsie closed her eyes and nodded, a tear escaping her right eye. "Yes, Milady. It is." She chewed on her lip, contemplating her next statement. "I shall hand in my notice immediately if you wish, of course."

"Mrs. Hughes, perhaps you did not understand me earlier. I have no wish for you to leave my son's employ. You are the best housekeeper this place has had in sixty years - having hired all three of your predecessors myself, I can attest to that most strongly. The matter has been dealt with, and this is the only proof remaining of the … transaction."

Elsie's head shot up, her eyes widening as she comprehended the woman's full meaning. "But … you've _paid_ her? Milady … _why_?"

"Three reasons, Mrs. Hughes. The first, the obvious, is that I wished to avoid yet another scandal for this family. The second, perhaps also obvious, is that I did - and I don't apologize for this - assume the story to be true before I even asked."

Elsie closed her eyes and nodded.

"And the last reason was so that I could verify the identity of the person from whom the letter had come. You saw that a meeting place was mentioned?"

Elsie nodded again, willing herself to remain silent lest she lose all control.

"Well, I went to it … with the payment, and accompanied by an undercover sergeant from Scotland Yard. As soon as the money was handed over, the vile woman was arrested. I daresay she won't bother you again."

"And her husband?" Elsie managed.

"Dead, according to her, a story which has been verified," Violet answered.

"Alright, then," Elsie whispered. "Milady ... I'm not sure that I can properly thank -"

"There is no need, Mrs. Hughes," Violet interrupted. "Only, tell me, if you would … _why?_ Why leave her behind with them? Surely you must have known … You must have had family, a neighbor?"

"Do you mean that I must have known what type of people they were? No, I had _no idea_ ," she whispered. Elsie felt more tears escape even though she was managing to keep herself from sobbing outright in this regal woman's presence. "I'd left the bairn with a neighbor's family. I visited some years later - when my mother had died, and I was back in Scotland for the funeral - I learned that she was gone, that the family had sent her elsewhere and then moved away. I'd no idea where, until this … _woman_ ," she said, waving the letter in the air, "contacted me."

Violet, for once, had no words. She simply reached across the table, took the housekeeper's empty hand in her own, and squeezed it firmly.

"I had no idea where they were at first," Elsie repeated, "but then the letters started coming. They wanted money, of course, and I was happy to pay for her care. I had no idea what kind of life she was living, no idea of the hell she'd been succumbed to every day, not until many years later when the husband died. That's why I asked after him, to be sure it was the right family; I recall that it was a sudden death, with his job being the only source of income. The woman wrote to me and said she could no longer keep the child … and so I found a way to bring her here." She paused to take a breath, emotionally exhausted from having to tell the tale. "I foolishly thought that would be the end of it."

"Of course," Violet replied, doing a bit of calculation in her head and coming up with the only plausible solution. "And she has no idea?"

"No, none whatsoever, but I'm not sure how long that will remain the truth."

"Well, I certainly will not be telling anyone!" Violet huffed. "Does the father know? Does he have any involvement in this situation at all?"

Elsie blushed furiously and nodded, refusing to speak lest the rest of the truth slip out.

 _I can hear your distant trumpet_

 _Calling from the morning mountain_

 _Singing to the passing river_

 _Take me home,_

 _Show me peaceful days_

 _Before my youth has gone …_

Violet looked up quickly and Elsie realized that Charles had returned. He let the Dowager know her car had arrived and, presumably, he would be collecting the tray.

But rather than approach the table to gather everything up, he approached Elsie's side, handed her a handkerchief, and laid his hand upon her shoulder. He'd heard enough to piece together what was happening or, at least, most of it.

"Elsie ... ," he whispered, seemingly unaware that he'd done so. She looked up at him with watery eyes, her lip clenched between her teeth once again as she simply handed over the letter so that he could read it.

Violet remained silent as the tender scene unfolded before her eyes, and watched as the butler's face as he read the contents of the pages. A look of seething fury came across his features, only to be replaced by deep sadness as he finished reading, folded the letter, and handed it back to the housekeeper.

"Of course," she muttered, shaking her head in amazement. " _You_ brought Mrs. Hughes to Downton, it was _you_ who convinced Mrs. Connor to hire her."

Charles raised his eyebrows and started to speak, but Violet shook her head in annoyance, effectively cutting him off as her sharp mind continued to piece the story together. "It must also have been you to whom Mrs. Hughes went with this request to bring the child to work in the house."

"It was, Milady." He paused, but then saw no point in not telling her the entire truth. "The young woman is my daughter," he said quietly. He squeezed Elsie's shoulder. "And I'd done precious little to care for her _or_ her mother up to that day. When Mrs. Hughes came to me and told me of the situation, I had no choice but to do as she asked."

"My, my," Violet whispered. "There are few things that go on in my family's home that I remain in the dark about, Carson, but I admit that _this_ one takes the cake."

"No one else needs to know, Milady," he replied quietly. "Mrs. Hughes and I have an understanding."

Violet looked at the housekeeper's face then, and saw all the anguish she expected, and more.

"It seems to me, Carson," she replied, using her cane to rise from her seat, "that you and Mrs. Hughes need to come to a new agreement. And quickly. She does not seem as … complacent as you appear to be about the entire situation."

Charles said nothing. He moved from Elsie's side and offered his elbow to Violet, who grasped it tightly.

"Milady," Elsie said, standing along with her as custom dictated, "I cannot thank you enough for protecting our secret."

Violet reached for Elsie's hand once again as she walked past, stopping to look directly into her eyes.

"I cannot imagine this pain that you've borne. While the situation is far from ideal, I think we both know enough about the world to know that it is not unique, either. I may be many things, Mrs. Hughes, but above them all I am a mother who knows the strain of worrying about her children's well-being. I cannot judge you too harshly for doing what I surely would have done in your place."

Elsie simply nodded her thanks, then moved to gather the tea tray as Charles helped the Dowager back to the house and out to her car. She was eternally grateful that the kitchen was empty at that moment save for Mrs. Patmore, who was too busy grumbling over the evening's meal to even notice her arrival. Elsie simply deposited the tray, turned, and left the room without a word, the lack of conversation being the only thing that was keeping her sanity intact.

 **Please drop me a note and let me know what you thought! I still plan to wrap the rest of the downstairs cast into this story, but Violet is pushy, folks. :)**


	19. Small Moments

**A/N: Posting now because the next one will take a while to write, I think. Thank you so much for the awesome reviews and all of your feedback, especially to the guests to whom I cannot respond personally.  
**

 **I mean it when I say that this story has taken on a life of its own, and I'm truly humbled by the heartwarming, personal messages that some of you have sent. I do hope you all enjoy how it resolves as we move forward.**

 **Song choice and proofreading thanks to go brenna-louise. "Small Wonders" by Rob Thomas will be the song theme for the next couple of chapters. It's on my Spotify - Username: ChelsieSouloftheAbbey, Playlist: Chelsie Potpourri.**

 **Much love! xx**

* * *

 _ **Our lives are made in these small hours**_

 _ **These little wonders, these twists and turns of fate**_

 _ **Time falls away ...**_

Elsie had been managing to hold herself together, albeit barely, the structure dictated by her job giving her precious little time to dwell on her personal situation. While she and Charles frequently still took their evening sherry or port, they had begun inviting Mrs. Patmore to join them, a peace offering from Charles after the entire situation with the war memorial. In some ways, Elsie couldn't help but be grateful for the cook's interruption, knowing that any time she and Charles spent alone would be when she'd have the most difficulty dealing with her feelings. On the other hand, having Mrs. Patmore, of all people, be the one to join them had cast its own strange shadow over things. The woman was practically Daisy's adoptive mother, after all.

 _We are a gathering of parents_ , Elsie thought one night, _all of us sharing parts of the role but none of us accepting it wholeheartedly_. It occurred to her that it would be best if they remained a united front, running a peaceful and well-oiled downstairs machine as they always had, and therefore Elsie was doing her best to maintain the status quo, lest anyone else discover her preciously-guarded secret. The last thing she needed would be Daisy asking questions about why the senior staff were at odds with one another.

A feeling of calm had dissipated throughout the Abbey as the last days of summer had turned into a pleasantly warm autumn. After a particularly busy season in Scotland, the family had been happy to be back at Downton once again and the servants had all settled back into routine. In the final weeks before the holiday rush, everyone was enjoying as much downtime as they could, the calm before the storm of Christmas entertaining and merriment. And so, while the heads of staff and cook were sequestered in the butler's pantry, Mr. Molesley and Miss Baxter were taking advantage of the calm to catch up with one another.

"I'm just saying it's strange, is all," Mr. Molesley said. He brow was furrowed in a bit of confusion as he tried finding words for what was in his mind. "Mr. Carson is _different_ , and Mrs. Hughes is _treating_ him differently. Haven't you noticed?"

Miss Baxter hummed noncommittally. Truth be told, she _had_ noticed. She just wasn't sure if she should trust anyone else with her observations. She'd seen the changes, but she was rather confused by them. At first, when Mr. Carson had returned to the Abbey from his hospitalization, Mrs. Hughes had seemed to be floating on air. Miss Baxter attributed it directly to her assumption that the housekeeper was in love with the butler, but she wasn't sure if anyone - even Mrs. Hughes - was aware of it, and so she'd said nothing. But as the days turned to weeks, the relationship between the downstairs leaders seemed to be somewhat strained. Miss Baxter noticed it more in Mrs. Hughes, but also saw something amiss in Mr. Carson; always so reserved and stoic, the man had been much more open upon his return, only to withdraw into an almost silent nature when he was around Mrs. Hughes. The ease with which they'd interacted from before the train accident seemed almost forced now, which puzzled Miss Baxter greatly as it had seemed so much more fluid upon his return to the Abbey.

But now, she reflected, Mrs. Hughes looked - in a word - horrible. She seemed to be ill, except Miss Baxter was sure she wasn't. Her color was waning, she appeared thinner, and she was quicker to temper than usual. Even stranger, she seemed to be avoiding the _kitchen_ at all costs. At first, Miss Baxter had thought the housekeeper and cook had suffered a falling out, but after observing more closely, it appeared that Mrs. Hughes wasn't avoiding Mrs. Patmore, but rather _Daisy._ She couldn't make sense of it at all, and so she told Mr. Molesley honestly that she knew nothing more than he did.

"I have noticed that Mr. Carson seems changed," she answered thoughtfully, "but I would imagine that anyone having been through what he has would come home a bit different after it all."

But Mr. Molesley, usually so easy to appease, was not to be deterred in this. "No, it's not just that. I'm sure you've noticed," he repeated. "They just seem so very _different_ , almost as though they were arguing except that they aren't. It's not as though they're cross with one another, only … strained?" He shook his head in annoyance, unable to put his thoughts into coherent statements.

"Do you remember when he was in hospital?" he asked. "When he asked for his _wife_? Surely he meant Mrs. Hughes, as Lady Grantham sent her immediately. You said she left so swiftly you'd thought he'd taken a horrible turn!"

Miss Baxter nodded. "Of course I remember. But nothing horrible _had_ happened. In fact, he came home a few days later well on his way to healed."

Mr. Molesley's eyes widened suddenly as a new thought dawned on him. "Wait … didn't he also ask for a _daughter_?"

Miss Baxter sighed inwardly, having hoped he'd not remember that but realizing it had been a rather futile hope. Mr. Molesley gave all appearances of being a bumbling footman, but she saw the truth of his personality even if no one else did: he was caring, quiet, shy … and observant. It took him a while to put things together sometimes, but he remembered _everything_.

"He did," she replied quietly, "but I'm sure it was a bit of confusion in his semi-conscious state." _Please drop it, Mr. Molesley,_ she thought.

"But why?" he enquired, pushing the issue. "Why would he ever think of a _daughter_ if he doesn't have one?"

Miss Baxter only shrugged, trying to distract herself with the mending she'd brought to the table.

"Unless ..." he continued, staring off into the distance, "Do you suppose he truly _has_ a daughter? Perhaps one that lives close by? We don't really know Mr. Carson at all really, do we? We only work here, and we all imagine we're friends of a sort," he said, blushing slightly as he stole a glance at Miss Baxter, "but we don't really _know_ Mr. Carson, or Mrs. Hughes for that matter."

 _Please, please don't carry that any further._ Blessedly, at that precise moment, Mr. Molesley let out a huge yawn.

"Please forgive me, Miss Baxter. I think it's time that I turned in."

"Yes, I'll be heading up myself as soon as I've finished with this sleeve," she answered, feigning a yawn of her own. "Good night, Mr. Molesley."

"Good night, Miss Baxter," he replied, rising from his seat. "Only, Miss Baxter …?" he trailed off.

She looked up at him, silently trying to will his thoughts into stopping before they reached the questions she'd raised in her own mind weeks ago: Was there a chance, a small, strange, perhaps even _lovely_ chance, that the housekeeper and butler were, in fact, actually _married_? That they could, in fact, even have a _daughter?_ And why, then, was Mrs. Hughes looking so much worse when Mr. Carson seemed so much _happier?_

"Never mind," he said, shaking his head. "It was a foolish thought."

"Alright," she whispered. "Sleep well."

oOoOoOoOoOo

The following week found Elsie flitting about in a tizzy. Madge was sick _again_ , and Elsie was starting to wonder if they'd been remiss in not dismissing the girl for the numerous flights of fancy she'd exhibited over the past few months. She never seemed to want to _work_ , per se, but Lady Edith seemed to like and appreciate the woman, so Elsie had gone out of her way to make sure that at least that one, small thing that made Lady Edith's life more pleasant would be maintained.

 _No matter that I'm as much Lady Edith's maid as Madge,_ she thought wryly. _This is the third time this month that I have attended her!_ Elsie couldn't complain, though, and she knew it. Lady Edith had few requests, was mild-mannered and quite polite, and truly seemed to care about any answers that Elsie gave to questions she was asked. The Crawleys were a kind family to work for but Elsie admitted that, of the family who still resided at the Abbey, she liked Lady Edith best of all.

"Come in," Lady Edith replied to Elsie's knock.

Elsie entered and closed the door behind her. "I do apologize, Milady, but it appears that Madge is, once again, unwell. I hope you don't mind?"

"Oh, not at all," the younger woman replied. "In fact, I was hoping to run into you at some point."

"Oh?" Elsie waited for Lady Edith to rise so that she could begin unfastening the buttons. As her fingers flew down the placket, she felt the young Lady tense, and was suddenly fearful of the questions she was about to be asked. Since her return from Switzerland, the she'd noticed that Lady Edith was rather morose and withdrawn, and Elsie had a very good idea as to why that was.

"Yes," Lady Edith said, taking a deep breath. "You see, Mrs. Hughes, I find myself in a rather awkward and untenable position, and I need some advice." She smiled fondly before continuing in a quieter voice. "Sybil always counted on you for a wise word, a kindness when she felt she'd receive it nowhere else. Mary had Carson, but I always felt a bit left out of all that."

Elsie smiled at the memory of a young Lady Sybil fleeing her family to seek refuge in the housekeeper's parlour, seeking a biscuit and a shoulder to cry on at times. She met Lady Edith's eyes in the mirror, took a deep breath, and came to a decision. "You are always more than welcome to unburden yourself to me, Milady. I would never want you to feel otherwise."

"You may regret that, Mrs. Hughes, but everyone says you're the one to talk to when one has a secret," Lady Edith whispered.

Elsie diverted her eyes from the younger woman, moving over to the wardrobe to hang the dress as she spoke. "Am I correct in presuming that this involves your trip to the Continent, Milady?"

Lady Edith nodded, but said nothing. Elsie noticed her tears but, rather than embarrass her, chose instead to keep speaking.

"Milady, you've no need to divulge anything to me whatsoever, but I believe I may be able to guess where this is headed." She paused to gather her thoughts, stuffing her personal anguish back down into that deep well from which it had erupted the day she'd visited Charles in the hospital, and remembering her own days spent in Lady Edith's position. "I don't mean to offend, Milady, but … might this have to do with Mr. Gregson?"

And at that, Lady Edith managed to let her sob escape. She moved to sit abruptly at the foot of her bed, and Elsie reached out swiftly to grab her elbow and guide her lest she fall to the floor.

"Oh, Mrs. Hughes, what have I done?" she sobbed.

And Elsie answered in the only way she knew how - an echo of a conversation from long ago, one she'd had with the elder Margaret Hughes. "You've done nothing that millions of young ladies the world over haven't also done. Milady, you fell in love, and trusted that it would carry you through."

Lady Edith continued to sob quietly, and Elsie did the first thing that came to mind: she sat right down next to her, propriety be damned, and wrapped her arms around the woman. She wondered fleetingly if Lady Grantham knew of the child, then dismissed the idea immediately. Lady Edith and her mother were never particularly close; no, Lady Edith was closer to her aunt than anyone else in the Crawley family.

 _Ah, of course,_ Elsie remembered. _How foolish of me to have forgotten - Lady Rosamund went WITH her to Switzerland. So she certainly knows. But ..._

"If I may ask, who else knows, Milady? I presume Madge has figured it out. The changes …" She didn't go on, knew she didn't have to. Elsie knew all about how a woman's body changed when she was pregnant - the marks, the loose feel of the skin, the tenderness, and the wider hips all being things that Lady Edith never could have hidden from her own maid. Elsie was actually impressed that Madge had said nothing, and her opinion of the maid went up a notch.

Lady Edith nodded. "Yes," she answered, sniffling and wiping tears from her face as she sat up and looked Elsie square in the eyes. "And Grandmama."

"Oh, my," Elsie allowed. _No wonder she was so understanding._ "And they have been … supportive?"

Lady Edith barked out a short laugh. "Aunt Rosamund has been _sympathetic_ , I suppose, to my plight. She was with me when I almost … when … well, anyhow, I didn't, and she was by my side the rest of the time as well. Grandmama, well, she _knows_ ," she finished with a smirk. "And would be beside herself to think I'm telling you - or anyone else, for that matter."

Elsie wasn't so sure about that, but she wasn't about to let on to Lady Edith as to _why_.

Lady Edith rose and started pacing the room. "That's the rub, you see. Heaven forbid that anyone but _Mary_ bring a scandal to this house," she spat. "When it's my _sister_ it seems that all is forgiven!"

Elsie had so many, many things she could say in response to that, but she chose the one that would likely be the most helpful at that moment. "I am not sure that your mother would support you any less than she would Lady Mary, but you should tell her, Milady. I believe it would be better coming from you. The risk of anyone else getting to her first is too great."

"I know. I just … you see, Mary was the eldest. She was the one groomed for this life, for taking over an estate like Downton. Sybil was the baby, the rebel, the one with the lovely eyes, beautiful face, and kindest soul you could imagine. But I was … well, I suppose I was the one who preferred to hide in the shadows, the quiet one, the one who always followed the rules. My mother might have, I think, _expected_ this less of me than them. Does that make sense?"

"I understand what you're trying to say, Milady, but you're still her daughter, and that means so very, very much in the end."

Lady Edith looked at the housekeeper curiously then, as if trying to puzzle something out, something Madge had said about an observation she'd made the last day Dr. Clarkson had visited Mr. Carson. She'd told Lady Edith of how Mrs. Hughes had met the man in the garden, and how the conversation they'd had seemed strained. Madge had passed Mr. Barrow in the corridor and asked him about it, but he wouldn't tell her. Still, she'd told Lady Edith, she knew she heard them discussing a child … _oh, surely not,_ she thought. _But, then again … who knows?_

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes," she said with a small, grateful smile. "It does, doesn't it? In the end, perhaps that's what matters _most_ \- that she's my _mother._ I can understand what that means, and I know she would do anything to protect me, regardless of what she might have wanted herself."

And, with that, Elsie had nothing much else that she could say. She nodded and smiled at Lady Edith, helped her into her nightgown, and felt the feelings in her heart start to flutter once more. This time there was no violent eruption, no overwhelming wave of hurt and anger and sorrow, and less regret. Those feelings were controlled, and something new was taking shape, something starting to grow and bud in its own still, small way. She felt, for the first time, that there was _hope,_ that there might, perhaps, be a way to happiness for them all.

"I am grateful to you, Milady, for trusting me with this. Truly."

Lady Edith gave a brief nod, a deep kindness in her eyes. "I thank you, Mrs. Hughes. Sybil was right."

"Milady?"

"You've a very comforting way about you, Mrs. Hughes. It's no wonder why the girls downstairs speak so highly of you."

Elsie blushed, but thanked her for the compliment.

"If there's nothing else you need, Milady?"

"No, thank you, Mrs. Hughes. You've given me a great deal to think about."

Elsie paused, then met Lady Edith's eyes, where she was not terribly surprised to find kindness, understanding, and not a little compassion. "I believe I could say the same," she murmured. "I bid you a good night, Milady."

"Good night, Mrs. Hughes."

* * *

 **Please drop me a note and let me know what you think! xx  
**


	20. The Burn

**A/N: Huge props to the lovely brenna-louise for the fastest proofreading EVER.**

 **Hoping you're all still with me here … we're approaching the final stretch, and this bit is pretty crucial.**

 **Same song selection as last chapter: "Little Wonders" by Rob Thomas. It's on my "Chelsie Potpourri" Spotify list.**

* * *

 _ **Let it slide, let your troubles fall behind you,**_ _ **  
**_ _ **Let it shine until you feel it all around you,**_ _ **  
**_ _ **And I don't mind if it's me you need to turn to**_ _ **  
**_ _ **We'll get by, it's the heart that really matters in the end ...**_

* * *

Charles sat at his desk, lost in his thoughts. In the back of his mind, he registered the faint noises coming from the servants' hall, felt the lull in activity between meals. It was both comforting and new, the story of his life these past weeks.

Quite frankly, he was no longer quite sure who 'Charles Carson' _was._ He had a feeling that everyone else in the house seemed to have accepted his relatively easy-going personality with joy, and it made him wonder just how awful he'd been _before_ the accident. Had he been too strict? Unfeeling? Unwilling to share in others' joys, to be happy for them when warranted? It seemed that since he'd returned from his accident and his memories had continued to come back more and more, the further he felt from "normal." _Perhaps it's time to re-evaluate what that word means, Charlie._

Charles knew that his previous life, as he was now thinking of it, had been driven by routine. The butler had always bowed down at the altar of the family, his life dictated by schedule - deliveries, meal times, serving, and the like. Charles knew both he and the Granthams had always appreciated that, but he knew now - _remembered_ , wondered how he ever could have forgotten - that he'd done it at the expense of what should have been the best part of his life: a wife, he could have had Elsie as his _wife_ , damn it - and their _daughter_. And now here they were, all living together as part of this massive Downton downstairs family, and no one was any the wiser.

He and Elsie had somehow managed to forge a relationship out of the ashes, a partnership that paled in comparison to the one they could have had if he'd only allowed it, and it worked for them. It worked because of _Elsie,_ though, her poking and prodding and demanding just a sliver of what had been, a tiny speck of familiarity and extra kindness that he showed no one else … except, of course, for Lady Mary.

 _God - Lady Mary._ Now that Charles embraced what he'd always known, what he'd never acknowledged to anyone - that he and Elsie had a daughter, could have been a true family if it hadn't been for his bloody commitment to _the job_ \- he could see it clear as day. _No wonder Elsie hates her so … the not-daughter I gave caring and attention to over the true one that I refused to claim; the privileged one to whom I'd have given the world if she'd asked, as opposed to the hidden one to whom I've rarely ever given a kind word._

And then he'd found himself standing up for Daisy just the other day, supporting her after a daring hall boy had flung a snide remark, something about how her nose was always buried in a book, and what did a woman need with studying, anyway? Charles hadn't even thought, the words had simply flown out of his mouth: _Go as far in life as God and luck allow._

Daisy had looked up at Charles as though she'd never clapped eyes on him before, saucer-sized eyes staring at him, jaw slack. Mrs. Patmore had stopped stirring, had almost frozen in time. The moment seemed to drag on endlessly - until he'd heard the slight gasp from behind him. Turning around, Charles had spotted Elsie, a curious look on her face. The corner of his mouth twitched (he had been well-scolded for the winking, was not going to try _that_ another time) and he nodded almost imperceptibly.

She'd seen it, though, and returned the gesture. Elsie, his Elsie (as he often thought of her now - and had, he thought, long before the accident) who had been struggling so hard to keep it all together, now seemingly calmed by the simple act of his accepting Daisy for who she was; not the illegitimate child to be hidden away, nor the scullery maid to be ignored, nor the kitchen maid to be scolded, nor the student to be questioned, but some new, better combination of all of those: the woman Daisy had _become_ , the amazing person who was striving to better herself amidst everyone telling her not to. He'd acknowledged it, approved of it aloud and in front of witnesses, and he'd seen the shift in how Elsie regarded him. He'd known then, at that moment, that his strange family had turned a corner, and might - if he was very careful - be able to find some peace at last.

Peace could come in many forms, he mused, but he thought he had the perfect answer: a home together, away from Downton, where they could retire together. He knew Elsie would never accept a proposal of marriage, not at this stage of their old-but-new relationship. She wasn't ready to retire, and neither was he, and they certainly couldn't marry and stay in service anyway. No, better to approach it differently, and he had Mrs. Patmore to thank for the opportunity.

They'd taken the day to visit the cook's new property last week, and it had been almost surreal. At times, when Mrs. Patmore was exploring something in the garden or in a different room, Charles had been able to look at Elsie openly as she examined a window, the fireplace, a piece of furniture that had been left behind, perhaps. He was able to imagine that this was _their_ home, that she was looking at _their_ things, and the thought of living there with her had made him happier than he'd thought possible.

"Have you ever thought about _your_ life in retirement?" he'd asked her.

And then, her cryptic reply. "Who says I'll live to retire?"

 _What kind of answer was that?_ Truly, she must be planning retirement at some point. The demands of her job would push her into retirement in another ten years, if nothing else did beforehand. Surely she was preparing …

And then it had hit him, the perfect solution, and it had been staring him in the face all day: _We could do this. We could purchase a home together - an investment property, a place to earn some extra money to put by so that we could marry and retire comfortably._

So he'd approached her, and she'd accepted the idea, albeit with some reservation, something she was not saying hidden underneath all the words she _was_ saying. And, with that, he'd seen it again: the strange reservedness she was now donning around him, the forced manner she had of pushing him back. _Push, pull … push, pull … her way, ever since she'd come to Downton all those years ago. There has to be a reason, but I'm damned if I can figure it out._

The knock on his door interrupted his thoughts.

"Come in," his deep voice beckoned.

"Mr. Carson," greeted Mr. Bates. "Might I have a moment? If it's not a bad time?" The valet turned and pushed the door shut behind him, not quite closing it completely but making Charles a bit nervous nonetheless. No one but Elsie ever closed his door unless they were delivering bad news.

"Of course, Mr. Bates," Charles replied, motioning for the man to sit. "What can I do for you?"

Mr. Bates sat silently for a moment, appearing to puzzle through something in his mind. Charles was getting more curious as the seconds ticked by, but he simply leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together across his stomach, the tips of his thumbs grazing across each other as he waited. It was a casual position the butler never would have assumed before - not in the presence of anyone but the housekeeper, at least - and it was that minute lack of formality that gave the valet the courage he needed to speak the words he'd come to say.

"It's about Mrs. Hughes," Mr. Bates said quietly.

The thumbs stopped moving, stilled by the tension now present in the butler's hands. But his voice betrayed nothing as he spoke, a detail that did not go unnoticed by the valet.

"Oh? And what about her?"

Mr. Bates took a deep breath. "Something is clearly upsetting her, and I'm wondering if there is any way in which Anna or I could help." _There, not too much, but perhaps enough to open the doorway,_ he thought.

Charles sat forward, his eyes on his ink blotter as he attempted to put his impassive, indifferent butler's face back into position. "I see."

"Mr. Carson," he tried again, "it's becoming noticeable to more people. I come in peace, and to tell you that if I have my suspicions, then surely others do as well … others that, perhaps, might not bother to give you fair warning."

"Oh," Charles blurted. _Does he know? Does MR. BARROW know? That's surely what he's suggesting, is it not?_

"I've said nothing," Mr. Bates informed him, "not even to Anna. But I think she wonders, and perhaps Miss Baxter as well. I'd be surprised if the entire downstairs staff hadn't noticed the change in her demeanor, but I don't think most suspect the … cause."

Charles raised his eyebrows at that. "You don't think most suspect _what_ cause _,_ Mr. Bates? What, precisely, are you suggesting?"

"For one thing, the fact that something is different between you and Mrs. Hughes. I realize it is none of my business, Mr. Carson, but everyone was pulling for you after your accident, and we were pleased that Mrs. Hughes had been sent for. The staff has always recognized and, if I may be so bold, _appreciated_ your working relationship, the way you care for everyone here … and for one another. As I'm sure you are aware, that is not always the case in a house as large as Downton.

"Nevertheless, once you returned home, things seemed to change. The two of you were suddenly much more _comfortable_ with one another, and I attributed that to her happiness at your improving health. I know she'd been working with you, attempting to help you to remember all the details you possibly could, and your progress was admirable.

"But now, things are _vastly_ different. It seems that the new, easy demeanor between you has disappeared; for a while, you were skirting around one another, as though you'd had a row that no one knew about. And, believe me, we usually know," Mr. Bates said with a smirk. Charles returned it and nodded, well aware that the man was speaking the truth.

"But now …" Mr. Bates could see the hint of fear in the butler's face, a fear that told the valet that his suspicions were about to be confirmed. Mr. Bates plowed forward; there was nothing for it now but to lay the entire truth on the table, to allow the man to make what he would of it and to hell with the rest.

"Yes?" Charles asked quietly, the color suddenly draining from his face. "Now … _what,_ Mr. Bates?"

Mr. Bates closed his eyes a moment, then opened them and looked his superior directly in the eyes.

"I saw you that day, Mr. Carson. At the kitchen window, with Mrs. Hughes." He lowered his voice a bit, cognizant of the still-ajar door. "She was so distraught, looking in … at Daisy, I presume?"

"She was having a bad day," Charles offered feebly.

"Daisy _is_ her daughter, isn't she?" Mr. Bates pushed. "And … just perhaps … yours?"

The crash in the corridor was deafening and nearly drowned out the high-pitched cry, the one that came from the woman who'd been carrying the tea tray and then dropped it, the teapot shattering as its hot tea scalded her feet and legs.

"Daisy!" came Elsie far-away, frantic voice, the click of her heels echoing on the floor as she ran towards the young woman. "Oh, my God, you must have been scalded! Here," she continued, kneeling on the floor so that she could pull the cotton of Daisy's dress up and examine the damage. "Oh, Daisy, we need to treat that now."

Daisy was looking at her in horror, shrinking away from her touch. "No," she whispered, backing up until she reached the wall and was forced to stop. "Tell me it isn't true. It _can't_ be …"

Elsie looked up at the men in Charles's doorway, first meeting the gaze of Mr. Bates before her eyes locked on Charles. _HOW?_

He darted his eyes at Mr. Bates for a half-second, then back at Elsie. "He knew. We were just discussing it when …"

"When I was bringing in the tea," came Daisy's strained voice. "Mrs. Patmore suggested you might need it, Mr. Carson … said you seemed to have a lot on your mind …" her voice trailed off.

"I'm so sorry," Mr. Bates said sadly, wishing desperately that he'd let things play out without his interference.

Elsie rose from the floor and looked at Daisy, a look of sheer pain and panic in both women's eyes.

"So it's true, what he said?" Daisy whispered, now sobbing softly from both the words she'd overheard and the pain from the splash of the tea on her ankles.

Elsie virtually collapsed against the wall, and Charles rushed over to help her before she slid back down to the floor.

"Yes," Charles admitted. "And it's all my fault."


	21. Little Wonders

**A/N: BE SURE you've read Chapter 20, which posted yesterday. This one picks up right where that left off, and it's a long one.**

 **This is the last "Little Wonders" chapter - Spotify, username/playlist = ChelsieSouloftheAbbey/Chelsie Potpourri.**

 **~hugs~ to brenna-louise for consulting and proofreading.**

 **So here we are. Thank you for the great response to the last chapter - I often post at night, and your reviews are the most wonderful way to wake up. I do hope to wrap this up by the middle of next week, assuming my feels survive Sunday. xx**

 _ **All of my regret**_

 _ **Will wash away somehow**_

 _ **But I cannot forget**_

 _ **The way I feel right now**_

 _ **In these small hours**_

 _ **These little wonders**_

 _ **These twists and turns of fate**_

 _ **Time falls away, but these small hours**_

 _ **These small hours, still remain …**_

" _So it's true, what he said?" Daisy whispered, now sobbing softly from both the words she'd overheard and the pain from the splash of the tea on her ankles._

 _Elsie virtually collapsed against the wall, and Charles rushed over to help her before she slid back down to the floor._

" _Yes," Charles admitted. "And it's all my fault."_

"Charlie, that's not true," Elsie said softly. Her ever-expressive face now reflected the entire contents of her heart, laid bare for everyone in the corridor to see: all the fear, the hurt, the shame, and the love. Mr. Bates had never seen anything like it, and his heart shattered at the sight of this formidable woman who was, for the second time in as many weeks, crumbling to bits before him, with only the butler managing to hold her together at all.

Daisy was still in shock. As Charles was helping Elsie across the corridor and into his pantry so that she could sit, Mrs. Patmore came flying out of the kitchen at all the commotion.

"What on earth is going on out here?" she cried. "Daisy?"

"I … I bumped into Mrs. Hughes," stammered Daisy. She knew it was wrong to lie, but there was no way she could give up the true reason for her accident. She avoided the eyes of the others, focusing solely on calming the cook. "I don't know what I was thinking. I was bringing Mr. Carson the tea, as you suggested, and I must have been daydreaming. I bumped into her and lost control of the tray. The pot shattered, and I got a bit burnt. I'm alright though, I think …"

Mrs. Patmore's brow wrinkled with concern and she noticed Mr. Carson with his arm around Mrs. Hughes.

"Are you alright, Mrs. Hughes?" she asked.

But it was Charles who answered. "She's fine, Mrs. Patmore, thank you. I recommend you get something cool on Daisy's burn as soon as possible, though."

"Yes, yes, of course," Mrs. Patmore mumbled. "Come with me, Daisy - can you walk alright?"

"Yes, Mrs. Patmore, I really do think I'm fine."

The cook looked at Daisy's face, surprised at how her girl looked even paler than usual. She reached out and touched her brow, which was cold and clammy.

"Oh, you're in shock, Daisy. You need to come and sit down for a bit. It must have burned much more than you're letting on," she mumbled, putting an arm around Daisy's waist to help support her.

"Yes," answered Daisy, her voice subdued, "I suppose it did."

Mr. Bates suddenly found himself alone in the corridor. Daisy and Mrs. Patmore's muffled voices carried out of the kitchen door, and he heard the cook's kind words as she tried to soothe Daisy from what she had erroneously assumed was shock from having been physically scalded. _Well, she's half right,_ he thought.

He could also hear Mrs. Hughes crying softly, and the low baritone of what he presumed were Mr. Carson's comforting words. Making his way into the kitchen, the valet silently prepared a new tray with two teacups and a new pot of tea, and he carried it to the butler's pantry. He knocked softly on the door and entered, uninvited, where he discovered Mr. Carson seated in his desk chair, the housekeeper on his lap and tucked into his arms. She was crying softly, her face buried into the butler's shoulder, and he was gently rubbing her back in an attempt to calm her down.

Mr. Carson looked up and took note of the tray, giving a gentle nod and tilt of his head to indicate both his thanks and that Mr. Bates should place the tray on the desk. The valet did just that and exited the pantry without saying a word, closing the door tightly behind him.

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

Elsie was tossing and turning in her sleep; her dreams were filled with ghosts, voices, and images that surrounded her. She seemed to be floating, watching bits of her life swirl by, scenes and people over which she had no control.

 _London … the Dowager Countess … the farm … Becky … Charlie: "Perhaps you can return to Scotland, have the baby there?" … the Abbey, a new job at last … the beach, and a gentle hand … "Mrs. Hughes, there's been an accident." … photos laid all over the table … letters: from Becky, from Charlie, of reference and of blackmail … her Mam's comforting arms, the scent of vanilla that permeated their kitchen in Argyll … Daisy … the Macinroys' farm, gone … Mr. Bates … "Who says I'll live to retire?" … Joe … a photo in Elsie's hand: "A friend?" … "Honestly, woman, whatever the two of you have going on lately is_ _ **showing."**_ _… thunderous rain pouring, pounding, knocking on the window, the door ..._

The sharp knocking roused Elsie from her sleep. She was groggy from the whisky Charlie had sent her to bed with, and she smiled as she realized that he'd likely expected her to only drink one or two wee drams. _Oh, well …_

She pulled on her dressing gown and opened the door, hoping beyond hope that another maid had not fallen ill in the middle of the night.

"Daisy," Elsie uttered, shocked into near silence.

The sight of the girl before her was heart-wrenching. Elsie couldn't think of a thing to say, and so she let instinct take over, some far-away part of her mind hoping that she'd not be struck or scratched in the process: she reached out and took the trembling, silently-sobbing girl in her arms, drew her into the bedroom, and shut and locked the door. Elsie led Daisy to the bed and forced her to sit, and then she fetched the whisky bottle and two tumblers. She poured a healthy measure for both of them, then added water to Daisy's and handed it to her before pulling a chair over to the bedside.

Elsie watched as Daisy took a couple of sips, listening as the sobs turned to choked gasps, and sat down in her chair when Daisy had visibly calmed. She couldn't bring herself to say a thing, but she tried to be grateful for the miracle that Daisy had shown up at her room at all, clearly needing a refuge from her distress. _Small steps, Elsie,_ she told herself. _Small, slow steps._

"I'm sorry," Daisy finally managed. "I didn't know where else to go. I need …"

Elsie could only nod at first, sipping her drink to fortify herself for the long road ahead.

"Yes, my dear lass … you need to know."

"Well," Daisy choked out, "I deserve an _explanation,_ that's for sure!"

Elsie ignored the snappy tone, thinking herself lucky that Daisy was remaining as calm as she was given the circumstances. In this room, right now, they were not housekeeper and maid; they were mother and child, two women lost in this endless sea of lies and secrets and pain, and they'd have to work together and tread carefully to find a way out of it all.

"You do. I'm not sure you're ready to hear it, though. I'm not … I'm not sure I'll be able to convince you of the truth of it all."

"Well, Mrs. Hughes," scoffed Daisy, sniffling, "you're going to have to try."

Elsie tossed back the rest of her drink and refilled her glass, painfully aware that she had to pace herself if she wanted to be able to function in the morning. She could always hold her drink without issue, but the emotional havoc on top of the effects of the alcohol meant she'd likely have a migraine come morning.

"Alright, then. But promise me one thing, Daisy."

"What?"

"Promise me … promise me you'll _believe_ me."

"I'll try," she whispered. She looked at Elsie and nodded.

"Well, then …where would you like me to start?"

"At the _very_ beginning. I need to know … about my real family, I suppose."

And so it was that, in the wee hours of the morning, Elsie began her story.

She told Daisy everything about herself that she could think of, even the most personal bits that she'd never shared with another living soul. She talked about growing up on a farm in Argyll, and how the winters were rough and they sometimes didn't have enough to eat. How her Mam and Da - "your grandparents, Daisy," - were kind people but how, once Elsie's sister, Becky, had been born - not quite right in the head, as Elsie described her - it had put a strain on her parents' marriage. Then her Da had died, and Elsie had left the farm in search of work.

"I have an aunt?" Daisy asked meekly. "I've always wanted another Auntie … I had one at my Mam and Da's farm, you know. I mean … where I grew up …" Daisy's voice faded away as she wondered if she'd just hurt Mrs. Hughes even more, calling them her parents.

"It's alright, Daisy - for all intents and purposes, they _were_ your parents. You had an Auntie?" she prodded. _She seems alright now, Elsie … take it slow,_ she reminded herself.

"Yes, she used to visit me, play with me."

"Well, I'm not sure Becky is what you had in mind, lass," Elsie said quietly.

"But you don't really know _what_ I have in mind, so please … don't say that," Daisy replied.

Elsie nodded. "Fair enough."

Elsie continued her story, told her girl things about selfishly wanting to escape the farm, how she didn't want the responsibility of caring for Becky and having to shield her from the village children's taunts and teasing any longer, and how she regretted that as an adult, tried to pay penance now for her actions then. She didn't realize she'd started to cry until Daisy handed her a handkerchief from the nightstand.

Elsie then spoke of how the now-intelligent housekeeper that the family valued had once been a shy girl who was a poor student, who struggled to stay on task in her lessons, who had to spend extra time on her lessons with the schoolmaster in order to learn her maths.

"Like me," Daisy whispered.

Elsie nodded, and she told Daisy of how she'd left school after the six required years and had headed into a life of service. She described herself as a farm-girl-turned-housemaid that never wanted to marry because she never thought she could be loved enough, never imagined she'd find anything comparable to the love her parents had shared.

And then … _then_ , Elsie said, she'd met Charlie, and she'd been sucked into a vortex from which there was no return. For the first time in her life, she'd been taken utterly by surprise, and had let her emotions wholly dictate her actions … and it had been a rather poor choice, indeed, but one which Elsie realized - finally, at the moment she was speaking the words - that _she didn't regret anymore._

"I regret leaving you, Daisy, and you _must_ believe that if there'd been any other choice, any other _way_ , then I'd have taken it. But I don't regret that day in London, or giving birth to a child that would turn into such a wonderful young woman. I thought I was leaving you with a family that had the means to feed you, a family that would care for you and love you as their own in a place that would be infinitely better than any workhouse I'd have ended up in had I raised you myself. "

"But they _did_ ," Daisy replied, and Elsie's eyebrows shot up. "My Mam and Da were ever so kind. I remember them. No … it were the _others_ that were bad. But not them."

Elsie wasn't sure what to think. _But the letter,_ she thought, _the awful letters …_

"But they sent you away," Elsie pressed. "They never told me, they just sent you away. I found out years later, when my Mam died and I returned to Argyll. I tried to ask after you, but the farm …"

"It was gone. Yes, they lost it. I was four years old. My Mam was dying, you see, and my Da had no way to pay the doctor's bill and still feed us. They sent me away, with a man Da had known from his childhood. They thought I'd be fine …" Her tears started again, and Elsie reached out tentatively to take her hand. Daisy flinched, but let her hand rest in Elsie's, appreciating the soft warmth it offered.

"No wonder you're so afraid of Mr. Mason's wanting you to have the farm, of returning to that kind of life," Elsie whispered understandingly. "It must bring up horribly painful memories for you." Daisy just nodded, trying to get herself under control.

"Can you tell me what happened after, Daisy? I know some of it, but clearly there are gaps," Elsie asked.

Daisy hesitated - so long that Elsie wasn't sure she'd speak at all. But, when she'd almost given up, she heard the answer.

"Yes, I'll try," Daisy said. "There isn't much to tell. Mrs. Patmore knows it all, but she'd never tell a soul."

Elsie tried to ignore the sadness that the thought of Mrs. Patmore brought her, the idea that her friend had been more of a mother to Daisy than Elsie had ever had a chance to be. But she recognized the sadness after a moment, claiming it as part of her penance. "No," she murmured, "I don't think she ever would."

"It were awful," Daisy whispered. She withdrew her hand from Elsie's grasp and pulled her feet up onto the bed, bending herself into an almost fetal position. The irony wasn't lost on Elsie; the girl wanted comfort, of course, and was so used to having to comfort herself.

"She used to beat me," she whispered "I was never smart enough, never fast enough. I spoke too much, or not often enough. _He_ wasn't so bad, but _she_ was … horrible …"

"I … oh, Daisy, I'm so _sorry,_ " Elsie said.

"It don't matter," Daisy said quietly. "Because I got out." She remembered then, and looked at Elsie as if with new eyes. " _You_ took me away, didn't you? When you found out? Wait ... " She thought back, trying to sift through her memories. "Of course! It was Mr. Carson that picked me up at the station that day, and brought me here!"

"Aye, lass, that he did," Elsie answered. "He did so at my request. I'd been receiving letters from that horrid woman, letters demanding more money, saying all sorts of things that were undeniably not all true but that I didn't possibly know how to verify for myself. So I did as she asked, kept sending funds for your care -"

"They _didn't_ care for me," Daisy interrupted. "To her, I was just some sort of slave girl."

"I know that now, but you must believe that I had _no idea_ then."

"They even changed my name," Daisy whispered, hugging her knees to her chest. " _'Margaret is too FANCY a name,'_ she'd told me. Told me I'd never manage the spelling."

"It was my mother's name," Elsie whispered. "And a stronger, more loving, more _sure_ woman never lived. You are a credit to your grandmother, Daisy."

Elsie remembered something then and got up from her chair. She headed over to her shelves, pulled an item from the top, and handed it to Daisy.

"My parents," Elsie said. "Margaret and Connell Hughes. Fine people, they were."

Daisy took the photograph from Elsie and brushed her fingertips over the faces of her grandparents. "I do look like him," she said, and looked up at Elsie. "But you look so much like your Mam."

Elsie nodded. "Yes, we always did resemble one another very much, even when I was young. You also look very much like Becky."

Daisy hummed a reply, still examining the photograph. "And Mr. Carson?"

Elsie hesitated. "What about him, Daisy?"

"Well, as you didn't marry, I can tell he clearly didn't want me. How will he feel now that I know?"

"He has been wanting me to tell you since he got home from hospital and remembered all about it," Elsie admitted shamefully. "But I didn't think it would be a good idea."

"Whyever not? I had a right to know!"

"I agree. But I was ashamed, Daisy. I thought I'd made the best choice in leaving you with the Macinroys, but when I found out they'd sent you off and I didn't know where, I was beside myself with anguish. Those years you were with that horrid woman and her husband were the longest years of my life. She would never tell me where you were, she only sent a photograph - twice - to reassure me that she did, indeed, have you in her home. It was only when the husband died that she wrote to me to say she couldn't keep you, that she'd be sending you off, but she did send me the address. I fixed it for you to come here as the scullery maid and sent Mr. Carson to retrieve you." She chewed mercilessly on her lip, wondering if she should say anymore, but Daisy didn't give her a choice.

"But he didn't want to? You had to convince him?"

Elsie drew in a deep breath. "I did back then, yes, but he's come around. Now …"

"Now he's _different_ ," Daisy nodded. "Since the accident, the injury to his head, he's not the same man."

"No, he is the same man, Daisy," Elsie clarified, "but the way he feels about things is different."

"The way he feels about _me?_ " she asked.

"Yes," Elsie nodded, "and, I think, the way he feels about _me._ "

"He wants us to be a family, then?"

"He wants us to be … something, yes. And so do I. But you're going to need to figure out what _you_ want. You're a grown woman, Daisy, and will need to make your own decisions. I'm sure you're quite angry with me, and I don't know how you'll ever forgive me …"

Daisy got up from the bed and walked around the room, pacing as she gathered her thoughts. "I'm not angry, I don't think. I'm confused, and sad, and feel foolish for never having noticed. I think back now, though, and so many things make sense … things you'd say to me, times when I needed a comforting ear and you were there …"

"But I'm not the only one, Daisy," Elsie said pointedly, "and Mrs. Patmore doesn't know. I know you think of her as a mother in many ways, and it's a lovely way you have with one another. I don't wish to …"

"No," Daisy cut her off again. "It's not the same. I mean yes, I do think of her in that way, as the only mother that I've really ever known …" She struggled to find the words, and looked Elsie in the eyes when she did.

"You and Mr. Carson care for me - for all of us, but I have always felt that I was special to you, somehow. Mr. Mason helped me see that a while back, when I told him I'd never been special to no one. He showed me that I am to him, and helped me see that I have all of you as well.

"But now it's different. I can't pretend not to know what I know, and I can't go back to the way things were this morning, neither. I just … I need to sort it some more. I would like to talk to Mr. Carson, if he would be willing."

"He would," Elsie promised. "He wants nothing more, I can assure you. But, Daisy … what shall I tell Mrs. Patmore?"

"Oh, nothing, please," Daisy replied. "I think that needs to come from me."

"Fine by me," Elsie chuckled. "Although I did promise to tell her what was going on …"

"Don't worry," Daisy reassured her. "She'll take it better from me anyhow, I think."

"That's probably true."

Daisy felt Elsie watching her, sensing she had something else to say, but she didn't want to push. She'd already gotten so much, had heard things that she somehow knew not even Mr. Carson knew about, and didn't feel it was her place to press for more.

"Are … are you _sure_ you don't hate me?" Elsie whispered. "All those years … I just, I had no idea …"

"I know," Daisy answered. "And it's alright. I don't hate you. I'm not that little girl anymore." Suddenly, she remembered something.

"Wait … How did _Mr. Bates_ know?"

"He saw me watching you, the day the Dowager had visited to talk about the letter, and I was so upset …" Elsie muttered absentmindedly, refilling their glasses with a wee dram to see them off to bed.

" _The Dowager?"_

Elsie nodded. "Yes. That vile woman had written to her, wanting money. It doesn't matter, though, she won't tell a soul, and it's due to her that the woman is now in prison."

Daisy looked at her warily but didn't argue. "Alright," she said slowly, not knowing anything about the Dowager except for how powerful and intimidating she always seemed to be.

Elsie handed Daisy's glass back to her and raised her own. "Thank you for coming to see me, my dear girl, for giving me a chance to explain. I know I may not have always done right by you, but I feel I did the best thing I could at the time."

"Mrs. Hughes … oh, it feels odd calling you that now …"

"We'll get there, I imagine," Elsie said, a small smile on her lips. You may call me whatever you wish, once you decide if you'd even like things to change. What did you want to ask me?"

"No, it wasn't a question," Daisy replied. "I was just going to say that you shouldn't feel badly about it. It's done. You fell in love, with a kind man, and you managed to bring us all together in the end. There can't be anything wrong with love, I don't think."

Elsie reached out and cupped Daisy's face in her hand, rubbing her thumb across Daisy's cheek. "Oh, lass, you may look like my Da, but you are more like my Mam than you could possibly imagine," she whispered, the echoes of her Mam's kindness swimming through her mind yet again.

"To love," Elsie added, clinking her glass with her daughter's. "Which, God willing, will always prevail."

They finished the whisky and Daisy took the glasses and put them on the desk. She turned back to Elsie, about to say good-night, but something dawned on Elsie just then.

"Daisy?" she asked, a faraway look in her eyes. "Tell me about this Auntie you mentioned … the one who'd visit at the Macinroy's."

"I don't remember much," Daisy admitted. "My Mam would tell me Auntie was visiting, and I was so excited. Auntie would take me out for the day and we'd play in the fields, running and laughing and going to look at the animals. She taught me to be kind to them, I remember. And she sang to me … always the same song, but I can't recall what it is now."

And so, without even thinking about it, Elsie started to sing, her lilting voice carrying clearly in the room despite her newly-falling tears:

 _I left my darling lying here,_

 _a lying here, a lying here,_

 _I left my darling lying here,_

 _To go and gather blaeberries._

 _I've found the wee brown otter's track,_

 _the otter's track, the otter's track_

 _I've found the wee brown otter's track_

 _But ne'er a trace o' my baby …*_

"Oh, my God," Daisy whispered, rushing forward as Elsie wrapped her arms around her. "It was _you!"_

"Aye, my darling girl, it was," Elsie sobbed, fearing she'd squeeze the life out of the younger woman.

"You came to see me. You … _loved me_ … I _felt_ it. Mam and Da loved me too, but you treated me like someone …"

"Special," Elsie finished for her. "Yes. More than anyone else I've ever known."

* * *

 ***A traditional Scottish folk tune which warns of the dangers of leaving a baby alone, lest the fairies come along and take him/her. Comforting lullaby, no? But it** _ **is**_ **a lullaby. Weird, huh?**

 **If you've the time, please let me know what you thought!**


	22. Fatherly Advice

**A/N: Not beta'd, so apologies in advance for errors.**

 **Song choice for the next couple chapters: "Make You Feel My Love" - it may sound strange as it's typically lauded as a romantic love song, but I feel it's multi-faceted. :) I hope you all agree. Spotify ChelsieSouloftheAbbey/Chelsie Potpourri.**

 **Thank you so much for the reviews you've all left for me. They've kept me going - kept this entire story going, in fact - and I'm not sure you realize how much they mean. Special thanks to the guest reviewers, to whom I cannot respond in person.**

 **xx,**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 _ **When the rain is blowing in your face,**_

 _ **And the whole world is on your case,**_

 _ **I could offer you a warm embrace**_

 _ **To make you feel my love.**_

* * *

The walk was a long one but, despite the chilly mist at the outset, Daisy refused to have a cart come and fetch her. She needed the time to think, and Mrs. Hughes had certainly given her a lot to think _about._

She and the housekeeper had somehow not seen one another much over the two days since their chat. It hadn't been intentional, but everyone had been busy with an upcoming dinner party and overnight guests. It was life in a big house and in many ways Daisy loved it, but it afforded her little time to be inside her own thoughts. The fresh air, brisk temperature, and clearing sky all provided a much-needed respite for her to collect her thoughts. She'd decided to speak to the only person she could think of who would offer a completely unbiased opinion about the situation, friendly support, and gentle encouragement: her father-in-law. And so, on her day off, Daisy found herself walking to the Mason farm, her basket full of all of Bill Mason's favorite foods.

Upon arriving, Daisy stopped to pet the head of her favorite horse, then reached into her pocket to retrieve the apple she'd brought for him.

"Good boy," she said softly, petting his warm head as he finished chewing the treat. "I love all the rest of 'em, too, but you know that you're my favorite." He whinnied in reply, nuzzling her sleeve with his nose.

Daisy took a moment to look around and take it all in: the animals, the land, the fields strewn with droplets glistening in the recently-emerged sunlight, sparkling that would soon be from a gentle morning frost rather than mist. In some ways this place was so similar to the environment in which she'd grown up, but in most ways it was worlds away from all of that. The Mason farm had always been tended with love; the scenery called to mind many things for her: _peacefulness, beauty, calm, pride._ There was none of the fear and hatred from her youth, and she didn't have to be that scared, shy little girl when she was visiting Mr. Mason. She mused that it was perhaps the only place on earth where she felt _whole,_ and she filed that thought away for later.

"Daisy!" came Bill's voice. "There you are!" She turned at the sound of his voice coming from the field and headed out to meet him halfway. "I don't know why you didn't send for me to bring the cart."

"I'm sorry I'm late," she replied, "but Mrs. Patmore needed my help with something before I headed out. And I needed the walk."

"Well, no matter, as long as you're well. It did give me a chance to get some of the afternoon chores out of the way, so now we can have the better part of the day for your visit. What've you got in here?" Bill asked, taking the basket from her.

"Only all of your favorites," Daisy said with a smile. "And there's a lovely chicken that Mrs. Patmore insisted I bring along - she knows how much you enjoy it."

"Yes, well, that was kind of her," he answered gruffly, and Daisy saw a slight blush appear under his whiskers, one which she adamantly ignored. _They'll work it out themselves one day, I daresay …_

"Do you think we might we spread a blanket and eat outside today, if it's dry enough now? It's getting warmer now the sun's high, and I fear it's one of the last nice days we'll have before the deep frosts set in."

"That sounds fine," Bill replied. "You said you had something you wanted to ask me about? I do hope everything is alright …" he added.

"I _think_ it is," Daisy answered with reserve, "but it sort of depends on me, on what I decide."

Bill looked at her with no small amount of love. His darling Daisy, the greatest happiness of William's life, and all that Bill had left of a family. It had long been his desire to have her take over his tenancy, but he could see the writing on the wall. The world was changing, and their part of it would be no exception. Tenant farms were becoming a thing of the past - the true reason which Bill had been encouraging Daisy to push herself in her career and studies. He would love to leave the farm to her if possible, but the fact that she could have other options suited him just fine.

Yet something was troubling her today; her usual innocent, carefree demeanor was muted by some dilemma or other, and he needed to help her get to the bottom of it.

They spread a thick blanket in her favorite spot, overlooking the fields below. Daisy laid out their luncheon: cheeses, pastries, the chicken, and a few other treats. She took the time to organize her thoughts and rally her feelings, something at which she was rather rapidly becoming adept.

"Now, Daisy, what is it that's troubling you?"

Daisy took a deep breath and looked out over the landscape. She remained quiet for a moment, and then decided to just get to the heart of it instead of beating around the bush.

"I've had quite a shock this week and I'm hoping you can help me decide what to do. I don't want to hurt anyone, but I can't see a way out of that."

"Oh, my, that _does_ sound serious," Bill replied softly. "And what was this shock?"

Another deep breath. "I've discovered that the people I always thought were my parents _weren't_ , and I know now who my real parents are - the ones who I was born to, anyhow. And they're at Downton." She waited, and saw on his face the instant the truth dawned. It took only seconds, but there weren't many options, after all. He looked up at her face, into her eyes, and he knew his suspicions were correct.

"Of course," he whispered. "Mrs. Hughes … and Mr. Carson, I presume?"

She nodded, and she felt the dam that had been holding back all of her fear and hope and uncertainty burst wide open. "Yes, and I found out quite by accident because, you see, they weren't going to tell me, only Mrs. Hughes couldn't keep it a secret anymore how she brought me to the Abbey all those years ago when Mr. Carson didn't want to - well, he's fine about it now - but now he doesn't because he's _different_ now, you know, because of the accident, and then they didn't know about telling me and it made Mrs. Hughes so upset to see me around all the time and she couldn't say why, and then there's Mrs. Patmore and how she's always -"

"Daisy!" he interrupted. "Slow down, love." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, offering it to her. She gratefully accepted it to intercept the tears that had threatened to fall. "That's it," he soothed her. "Now try and start from the beginning … _slowly_."

"Well, it started when I was bringing tea for Mr. Carson. I approached his door and it wasn't closed tightly. I didn't _mean_ to overhear, but Mr. Bates and Mr. Carson were speaking, and I heard my name, and once I heard what they were saying - about how I was really Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson's daughter - I dropped the tray. I just … it was a shock," she finished meekly.

"Yes," Bill nodded, "I imagine it _was_ quite a shock. Were you hurt? When the teapot broke, I mean."

"I was, but not badly. Then Mrs. Hughes came when she heard the crash, and Mrs. Patmore was right behind her. It was Mrs. Patmore who took me away to tend to the burn. She had no idea what had really happened," Daisy told him. Then she hesitated, needing a moment before continuing with the story. "I _lied_ to her. I've never done that before, not about something important anyhow."

"Well, Daisy, that may not have been a bad idea. It sounds as though there was more than enough difficulty in that corridor without her finding out at the same time," Bill mused. "Have you spoken to any of them since?"

Daisy told him about visiting Mrs. Hughes in her room and asking for details about what had happened, about how she'd _craved_ the details about the history they all shared. Without betraying the housekeeper's confidences or telling him the personal details that had been shared with her, Daisy managed to tell Bill that Mrs. Hughes had visited the Macinroy farm when Daisy was just a babe, how she'd had been her 'Auntie,' and how she still remembered the lullaby from all those years ago. Daisy also told him about the baby photograph that had hung in the housekeeper's office and how, upon remembering it, she'd asked Mrs. Hughes about it, and that the woman had confirmed that it was, indeed, Daisy.

"I know she wants me to be her daughter now, in some way," Daisy said. "She said as much, said that she regrets that we never had that, regrets that I had such a difficult time of it …"

Her voice trailed off, and Bill remained silent. He wasn't sure of all the details of Daisy's past, but he knew she'd lived with her parents for a short time before being sent to another family that had treated her poorly; he'd gotten that much from William. He was loathe to ask her about it, so he tried a different tack.

"And do _you_ wish for that, a 'proper' family?" he asked, his voice not betraying his fear at the thought that Daisy could now have a _true_ father who wanted to care for her.

"Maybe," she answered. "Yes … oh, I don't _know_! I feel I've had that, at the Abbey. I met William there, of course, became his _wife_ there." She stopped abruptly, suddenly remembering Mr. Carson's insistence that he should accompany her to a William's bedside, walking her down the aisle in his own way. She shook her head to shoo away the memory.

"Mrs. Patmore has always treated me special, and of course I have you. I don't want anyone to think that you both don't matter to me anymore, or that I ever felt it wasn't enough."

"Don't you worry about us," Bill soothed, patting her hand. "But you're a grown woman now, Daisy. It would be possible for you to have some kind of relationship with them, surely? Especially if it's what you all want?"

"But Lord and Lady Grantham might find out … oh, although, perhaps that might work out alright …"

"I'm sorry?"

"Lady Violet knows," Daisy told him. "The woman that I lived with, the not nice one, she wrote to her. She told her about Mrs. Hughes, asked for money to keep quiet." She barked out a laugh. "Lady Violet had her _arrested_ \- she's in prison now! But if Lady Violet was willing to do that, maybe she'd stand up for us if his Lordship had any issue with it all?"

"She is rather fond of Mr. Carson, I know that from what William used to tell me. He was always talking about life at the big house - his stories always made his mother proud," Bill said wistfully. "And if the Dowager Countess was willing to do all that for Mrs. Hughes, then perhaps you're right."

"I just don't know what to tell Mrs. Patmore," Daisy whispered. "She's been almost like my Mam for such a long time now, and I think she feels that I'm like a daughter to her. I don't want to hurt her."

Bill sighed. He pursed his lips and looked out over the farmland, thinking as he finished his drink.

"I know you don't, Daisy," he finally said, some hesitancy in his voice. "But you wanted my opinion?"

"Yes, very much, please."

"My advice is this: tell Mrs. Patmore, but not at the big house. Bring her here. Could you manage a day off together?"

She thought about it for a minute. "Yes, actually, I think we could. Next week the Granthams are heading to London for a couple days. We discussed that when looking ahead at the menus."

"Good. Then invite her here, and I'll support you when you tell her." He paused. "I can't imagine her being angry with you, Daisy, but she's likely to be a bit hurt that she never knew. And it would be good to have her away from _them_ when she finds out," he said, thinking of Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson's feelings.

"You'd be willing to do that? For me?" Daisy asked.

"I would," he replied with a soft smile. "You're still my daughter, too, regardless of all this. Our William made sure of that. And family sticks together - particularly Masons. It's who we are."

Daisy nodded. "Thank you for that. I'll talk to Mrs. Patmore about a visit when I get back." She smirked at Bill then. "I don't think she'll need _too_ much convincing, really."

"Yes, well," he muttered. "Then I'll look forward to that."

Daisy collected their things and repacked the basket. They headed back to the farmhouse, Bill filling her in on how the animals and the crops were faring, how preparations were going for winter. Daisy was pleased to discover that, once they'd arrived at the house, she could quickly look over his paperwork and notice how the numbers were tallying, could make predictions about the future that he agreed with.

"Ah, you're coming so far, Daisy - well done!" Bill praised. "If it's in the cards for you, you could easily manage this place someday."

"Oh, I don't know," she worried. "I've still so much to learn. Mrs. Hughes also struggled with maths, though - she told me. And _now_ look at her, running the household and all the accounts!"

"See? I told you, you've just got to put your mind to it and you'll be just fine," Bill reassured her. "Whether you end up living on and running this farm, or living in and running the kitchen at Downton - or any other big house, for that matter - you'll do just fine. The world is changing, Daisy. It's going to be in your hands to decide where you'll land once it's done."

"I know," she said, a modicum of awe in her voice. "It's just … well, it's a lot of pressure, innit? To make such important decisions. I just don't know what I want yet."

Then Bill remembered something. "That reminds me … how is it coming along with that new footman?" he asked.

"Andy …" Daisy said softly. "I'm not sure."

"But he's sweet on you?" Bill pressed, a twinkle in his eye.

"I think so. Maybe." She sighed, shaking her head shyly. "Oh, I don't know."

"Well, you've got to make no decisions about that now," he told her. "One thing at a time."

Daisy hummed her agreement, nodding. "I need to be heading back," she said.

"Why not let me take you? Then we can ask Mrs. Patmore about next week."

"Alright - and thank you ever so much. I feel better about it all now." She paused. "I _do_ want to talk to Mr. Carson. I think I _do_ want to get to know them better, even if nothing more comes of it. I've been wondering … it was hard to hear at first that my life had been somewhat of a lie, that the things I'd thought were true really hadn't been. But I know my parents, the ones that took me in when I was born, _loved_ me. I think, now, that the ones that gave me to them did, too, in their own way … and I think that must have been _so hard_ , particularly on Mrs. Hughes."

"I'm sure it was," Bill said quietly, "and it's good of you to think of that. You're a sweet and kind woman, Daisy Mason."

"Thank you." She turned and looked at her father-in-law then, and saw the wistful look in his eyes. She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"You know, no matter what comes of it all, you'll always be my Da, thanks to William. I'm so very glad I have you."

Bill's eyes misted, and he unashamedly brushed at them. He realized in that moment that she'd seen his inner fear: that, despite his reassurances a moment ago, he worried that he might lose her, the last of his family, if Daisy decided the housekeeper and butler would be her "new" parents. He found he wasn't ashamed, though, as he'd thought he might be, but rather _grateful_ that she'd seen it. Bill had learned long ago that nothing good ever came from hiding the truth.

"Thank you, Daisy. And I'm so glad I have _you_ , too." He opened his arms and she let herself get wrapped up in his hug, drawing her strength from his own … ever so grateful for him, indeed.

They didn't talk much on the way back to the Abbey, Bill busy controlling the reins and Daisy lost in her thoughts. The more she pondered it all, the more excited she was to open up to the idea of having Mrs. Hughes as a mother.

She was a bit more reserved about the butler, though. Despite Mrs. Hughes having assured her that it had been _his_ desire to tell Daisy the truth, she felt that he'd almost resented her presence at Downton, that he never much cared for her. That changed a bit when she married William, of course, and then there was that day not too long ago when he'd stood up for the idea of her pursuing an education. She needed to speak to him, get a few things off her heart that were currently weighing heavily … things about how he could possibly have sent Mrs. Hughes away, how he could have chosen to not welcome his own child. She took comfort that he'd not asked Mrs. Hughes to do the unfathomable, to end the pregnancy, and hoped that was a sign that, in some small way, he'd cared for them both even then. She intended to find out.

 _He certainly seems to have always cared for her, though,_ Daisy mused. _And since that awful accident, he certainly is kinder toward me._ Daisy knew that _she_ certainly wasn't going to judge him for the changed feelings, though; if anyone at Downton understood how easily a person could change over the course of the years, it was Daisy.

She thought that maybe, just _maybe_ , this accident had been a blessing in disguise for them all. _Well,_ she amended silently, _except, perhaps, for Mrs. Patmore._

* * *

 **I just LOVE Bill Mason, don't you? Please drop me a wee little review and let me know what you thought! xx**


	23. Progress

**A/N: My exercise in keeping things to under 2,500 word chapters has failed. I may be the only one who cares. I wanted both of these in the same one, though, as there are slight, mirror images that I tried to incorporate. I hope you enjoy!**

 **Song choice is the same as Ch 22 and 24 will also feature it: "Make You Feel My Love," as sung by Adele. It's on my Spotify.**

 **I think many of you have been waiting for this. I thank brenna-louise for the proofreading and encouragement, and also chelsiefan for giving me something to think about regarding Mrs. Patmore. While I didn't use it specifically as we'd discussed, it did change a few things in her overall train of thought.**

 **I love hearing from you all about what you like (or, perhaps, don't like) about this fic - and any fic, really. It is truly helpful and I wish I could reply to all the guest reviewers. FF really needs to work on that.**

 **Thanks to those who are still with me. xxx**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 _ **The storms are raging on the rolling sea,**_

 _ **And on the highway of regret ...**_

* * *

"Okay," Beryl Patmore huffed. "Are you two planning to _tell me_ what this is all about?" Hands on her hips, she looked from Daisy to Bill Mason and back again. "I was suspicious about this last week when you invited me … now I'm positively _teeming_ with curiosity!"

Daisy looked at her father-in-law guiltily, and watched as he rubbed his hand over his face.

"It were my idea," he said quietly. "Our Daisy has something important she needs to discuss with you. She came to me for advice last week, and I suggested you both come here." He looked at Daisy, then back at Mrs. Patmore. "Sometimes a change of scenery is best."

"Alright …" she answered suspiciously.

"Mrs. Patmore," Daisy began, "why don't we sit and eat, and then I can explain everything afterward?"

The cook heard the calm, quiet, strangely _confident_ tone in Daisy's voice. Of anything, that tone was perhaps what made her the most concerned about what was coming.

 _Surely she's not leaving Downton? I don't think I'm ready for that. But, no, she needs to sit her exams first …_

"Yes, let's do that," she agreed aloud.

Small talk ensued over the course of the meal, discussions about the upcoming Christmas holiday at the forefront of everyone's minds. The Mason farm always contributed provisions to the Abbey's meal, and Daisy listened as her elders firmed up the details of what would be needed.

When the talk seemed to taper off, Daisy rose to collect the dishes. Bill stopped her, however.

"I'll get these into the sink," he said to her. "There's water on for tea, if you'd like to bring in a tray. I think we're going to need it."

Daisy nodded and did as she was asked. "Mrs. Patmore, why don't you head on through?"

Beryl had never seen the rest of the Mason home before. Upon entering the parlour, she took a few minutes to examine the furnishings and decoration, admiring the simplicity she saw throughout. The furniture was well-loved but sturdy. She saw that the side table had a lace cloth covering it and wondered immediately if William's mother had made it. Then she spotted photographs over the hearth and headed over for a closer look.

There were five of them on the mantle, and dear William featured in three. The left-most frame held one from when he was just a lad, which appeared to have been taken by the barn, and he was posing astride a horse. The second photograph was of William in his footman's livery, and she recognized it immediately as the work of the Abbey photographer. It was from the year before the war, when the photographer had snapped some candid pictures in an attempt to see the quality of prints that his new camera would produce. The prints had come out splendidly and had been gifted to the Abbey free of charge, but only the single photo of the entire staff had made it into the album, as was tradition. Beryl wondered how Mr. Mason had gotten a hold of this one and, after a moment, decided Mrs. Hughes must have given it to William, as she was usually the one to add to the album. The third, as she'd expected, was a photograph of William in his army uniform, and she spent a moment regretting that he and Daisy had never had their photograph taken together. The fourth photograph, however - frameless, but leaning up against the one of William in his uniform - was the portrait Daisy had given to William before he headed out for his time on the front. The sight of these two photos,placed together, took Beryl's breath away; Daisy and William were almost leaning on one another, but not quite _together_. It was rather symbolic of their relationship: William watching over his Daisy, her hesitancy to be standing directly by his side. And, of course, the fifth frame held a photograph of the Masons on their wedding day, a picture that tugged at Mrs. Patmore's heart in a way that she didn't want to explore at the moment - some combination of love and pain, neither of which had any place in Mr. Mason's parlour.

"Alright, then?" came Bill Mason's soft voice from behind her, startling her out of her reverie. She turned and gave him a sad smile, which he returned in kind.

"Oh, but they're lovely," she said. "As is this," she added, fingering the tablecloth. "Did your wife make it?"

"My grandmother," he replied fondly. "I used to watch her when I was a lad, the bobbins flying so fast I had no idea how she managed it. It's all I have left of them - their cottage burned to the ground when I was fifteen years old. They were on holiday at our farm at the time, thank the good Lord, and she'd brought this along to keep herself busy. Lucky, that, so I have this to remember her by. We were very close, you see, my grandmother and I."

Beryl smiled sadly and nodded, any appropriate verbal reply completely evading her mind.

"Alright, then," came Daisy's voice from the doorway. She set the tea tray on the small table and everyone took a seat - the ladies on the settee, Bill in his favorite chair.

" _Now_ will you _please_ tell me what is going on?" Mrs. Patmore asked. "I've been on pins and needles for days!"

"It's only … well, I don't want you to be hurt," Daisy replied.

" _Hurt?_ Whatever do you mean?" Mrs. Patmore was thoroughly confused. "Daisy … you're not quitting your job, are you?" she asked quietly.

"What? _No!_ No, whyever would you think that?" Daisy asked, puzzled.

"Well, you've discussed this with Mr. Mason first - I mean no offense by that, Mr. Mason, I'm glad she's got you to turn to. But, Daisy, I'm not used to you keeping me in the- _wait a minute._ This isn't about _Andy_ , is it? Because I already know that you're sweet -"

"No, it's not," Daisy cut her off. "I've not even gotten around to thinking of all _that_ yet."

"Well, that's good," Mrs. Patmore replied with a nod.

"It's about my parents," Daisy said quietly.

"What?" Mrs. Patmore's head tilted to the side, her face scrunched up in an expression of complete confusion. "Your _parents_? I presume you mean your actual parents, and not that lot what had you before you came to the Abbey," she grumbled, her face reddening in anger as she thought of the stories Daisy had confided over the years.

Daisy could see her getting steamed up, and spoke up quickly - wondering, fleetingly, if her answer was going to extinguish or ignite the woman's anger. "Neither. I mean … my _real_ parents."

"Your … what? Your ' _real parents?'_ What on earth does that mean?"

"My true parents - the ones who gave birth to me but had to give me up." She let that sink in for a minute, waiting patiently.

"Daisy? What are you talking about? I thought those nice folks _were_ your parents? I'm so confused." She looked at Mr. Mason for a moment, as though she'd just remembered they were having this conversation in his parlour, in his presence. "Wait … what's this to do with you? Do you _know_ these people she's talking about?"

"Oh, yes, Mrs. Patmore," he replied kindly. "And so do you."

She straightened her back a moment, the confusion taking over. Try as she might, she couldn't fathom what on earth they were on about! _But the only people I know live in town or at the Ab- …_ _oh, surely not._

She felt Daisy's eyes on her and looked up to meet her gaze. Beryl watched as those eyes filling with tears, and she reached out to grasp the younger woman's hand. She continued to look into those eyes … those deep, sparkling blue eyes … then let her gaze drift over Daisy's slight build, the dark hair, the fair complexion spattered with freckles … and suddenly it clicked.

"Oh. Oh, my God," she whispered. She closed her eyes and shook her head, both breathless from shock and wondering how she'd never noticed it before. "Of course … _Elsie_." She shook her head, overcome with the strangeness and sadness of the situation. She'd known how it was for maids then, known how difficult it could be to avoid advances from male members of the household - it was one reason she'd always preferred working in the kitchen.

 _But no, wait, didn't she say BOTH of her parents are at Downton? But Elsie wasn't employed there that long ago … so …?_

"I'm so sorry," Daisy said, interrupting her thoughts.

Mrs. Patmore's head snapped up. " _Sorry?_ Why on earth are _you_ sorry _?_ You didn't know this whole time, did you?"

"No! No, of course not! I found out last week. That day the I dropped the teapot?" Daisy withdrew her hand from Mrs. Patmore's and sat back, fiddling with the fringe on her jumper as she spoke. "I lied to you, Mrs. Patmore. I didn't bump into Mrs. Hughes in the corridor. I was about to bring the tray into Mr. Carson when I heard him and Mr. Bates talking about it."

"Wait a minute. Mr. Bates knows? But how?" Mrs. Patmore was becoming more confused by the minute.

"I'm not sure, actually. But he asked Mr. Carson about it."

" _Mr. Carson_? But why … oh, oh my goodness, of course." She felt sick - not with the thought that the two of them had a secret child, or that it was Daisy, but with the knowledge that she'd somehow never put it all together before.

Her face slackened with the rest of the shock, and Bill and Daisy watched her, concerned for her health as they saw her characteristic, pink color drain from her cheeks. Her eyes were flitting about the floor and they knew she wasn't looking _at_ the floor, per se, but rather flipping through years' worth of memories, instances in which she'd observed Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes together, times when she'd noticed the things they seemed to share with one another - the nuances, the covert glances, that strange method they had of communicating without speech - and they saw her putting it all together before wondering about the one, inevitable bit that remained: the question of _when._

"London," she whispered, nodding slowly as she did the mental calculation backward from Daisy's age. "The year he was promoted to butler. She must have been there during the Season. Oh, good heavens …"

"I think we've gotten there now," Bill said quietly. He scooted his chair closer to the settee and looked at the cook, and then - very boldly - took her other hand in his. "Our girl has had quite a shock, Mrs. Patmore. She needs our help as she decides what she wants to do."

Beryl looked up at him and saw the tenderness in his eyes, felt the warmth of his hand as it squeezed her trembling one. She licked her dry lips and took a deep, cleansing breath, and turned to Daisy.

"What _do_ you want, love?" she asked.

"I don't know," Daisy replied thoughtfully. She turned to stare out the window, noticing how the sky was darkening. "More," she added.

"More than what?"

"More than this," she answered. "Not to replace either of you, of course. But just … well, I'd like a chance to have them as family, if they want me. I think."

"Why _wouldn't_ they want you?" Beryl almost shouted. "They should be _happy_ that after what they did you'd want to be back in their life!"

Daisy shook her head slowly. "No, I don't think I hold that against them. Well, at least not against Mrs. Hughes. She told me it had been the best choice, and she was right. If she'd kept me we'd have been at her family farm, practically starving, or out on the streets of London. At least this way she could keep her job and I had parents who were able to care for me when I was little."

"But surely the farm wouldn't have been so bad?" Beryl asked quietly. She was utterly confused: _Why NOT the farm?_

As Daisy was formulating a reply she bit down on her lip, an idiosyncratic detail that had not escaped Beryl's notice.

"She needed to keep working, to send money home after her Da died." _There, that's the easiest explanation._

Beryl's eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips. She knew Daisy wasn't giving her the entire story, and it shocked her to realize that the young woman was withholding something, some bit of information about Elsie Hughes to which Daisy - as the newly-discovered daughter - had heard in confidence … something that, despite over twenty years of working together, Beryl did not know.

 _Well._

Daisy gave her a few minutes to gather her thoughts before speaking again. "I want to talk to Mr. Carson, hear his side. I don't think he wanted me at all," she said sadly, "and I need to know why.

"But I think that I'd like to get to know them … differently, I mean. And you … you've always been like a Mam to me, you know that I think, and nothing that Mrs. Hughes or Mr. Carson tell me is going to change that."

She turned her attention to Bill. "And it's not going to change how I feel about you, neither. You've been a Da to me when I never thought I'd have one. You've made me feel special, given me options and encouragement _outside_ of the big house, made me feel like, just maybe, the world's not as scary as I'd thought."

"But you deserve a chance for more, Daisy, and you should explore that," Bill answered gruffly. "I lost my family much too soon. All of them …" His voice cracked, but he took a deep breath and plowed ahead. "All too soon. If I had a chance to see them again, or to build something like what you've had given to you, I wouldn't think twice about it," he finished.

"Nor would I, I suppose," Beryl added. "He's right. You should see where it leads, if you want to."

Daisy looked down as Bill reached for her hand, realizing belatedly that he was also holding Mrs. Patmore's hand. They'd formed a little circle of sorts, and the image calmed her.

"We'll always be here for you. If it works out that Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson want that as well, then so be it. Your family will just be larger is all," Beryl told her girl.

Daisy smiled, relief flooding through her. She hadn't expected this to be how the day would go, but everything she'd imagined paled in comparison to what she had right here, in Bill Mason's well-loved sitting room.

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOo**

Charles was just finishing pouring the last of the wine through the filter when he heard a gentle knock on his door. He looked up as the door was opening, and saw Daisy peek her head around.

He was unprepared for how he'd feel upon seeing her. Elsie had told him of their conversation last week but, like Elsie, he'd been so busy that he'd not really seen Daisy at all since the whole teapot fiasco. He hadn't imagined how much he would long to speak with her now that the secret was out, to tell her that, in his own gruff, reserved way, he had always cared for her. The swell in his heart almost knocked him flat, but he managed to control it and meet her halfway across the pantry.

Once he found himself standing in front of her, however, he wasn't sure what to say, what to do. In his discomfort the old habits came back, the ones from before the accident, and Charles found himself clenching and unclenching his hands, and tugging on his waistcoat to smooth it, as if the actions of putting the prim and proper butler together would calm the man inside.

It wasn't working, and Daisy could sense it immediately.

"I wondered if I might have a word, Mr. Carson … if now is a good time?" She nodded toward the decanter, noting that he'd just finished with it but unsure of what happened next.

Charles took a deep breath. "Of course, Daisy." He motioned his hand toward a chair, indicating for her to sit as he took care of the decanter apparatus. He hesitated, then added, "I know you've spoken to y- … to Mrs. Hughes."

"I have," she answered as she took her seat. "She filled in a lot of blanks, and explained how she used to visit me when I was small. Before I was sent away."

Charles looked at her curiously, and sensed the hurt in her expression. "Yes, I was aware that she did," he murmured, conscious of the need to soften his voice lest he frighten Daisy with its usual, booming volume.

"Why didn't _you_?" Daisy blurted out. "Ever see me, I mean? Did you not want to? Didn't you … wonder what had happened to me? Did you never care at all?" She realized that she'd begun crying, but didn't really mind. _It's good for him to see how hard this is,_ she thought.

Charles sighed, and Daisy noticed the sorrow evident in his eyes. He held out a handkerchief to her, which she refused; instead, she reached into her pocket and withdrew a decidedly more feminine one, not hearing the gasp that had escaped his lips. She dabbed at her eyes and then folded the slip of fabric into fourths, taking a moment to run her finger around the delicate forget-me-not pattern that resided in the corner. Mrs. Hughes had given it to her the night they'd spoken, had insisted that she take it; Daisy had been holding onto it like some sort of talisman ever since, a way of reminding her that this whole messy situation hadn't just been some horrible dream.

"I bought that for her, you know," he rumbled. "The handkerchief." A pause. "In London - it's older than you are, my dear."

"Oh," Daisy replied, startled. "She gave it to me the other night, but she didn't tell me _that_."

"No, she wouldn't," he answered softly, shaking his head as a smirk playing about his lips. "Funny, though … how you'd have it with you when you came to see me."

Charles took a deep, cleansing breath. The simple sight of a handkerchief had made everything in his mind so suddenly, abundantly clear. "Daisy, please, let me say a few things." She nodded, allowing him to continue.

"I was a foolish man to have let Mrs. Hughes – _your mother_ – go away all those many years ago. No, that's not quite right … I _forced_ her away, I refused all other options. I put too much focus on my work, on my pride at having just been appointed butler and how important I was to the Crawley family."

He fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat, looking down at the hem of his waistcoat as he fiddled with the edge of the fabric. It was an uncharacteristic move, Daisy thought, and she wasn't sure if it was due to his changed personality or the fact that she'd rarely seen him in a less formal setting than when he was presiding over the servants' table. _Perhaps a bit of both,_ she thought. When he continued speaking, though, she heard a great sadness in his voice.

"I should have made my _actual_ family the focus of my life; instead, I ran away. I abandoned that lovely woman. And then, when the opportunity presented itself, I asked her to come and work here. We needed a head housemaid, as I'm sure she's told you, and I wrote to her. I knew she was a hard worker, that she could run this household seamlessly, but that wasn't the _real_ reason. I am a selfish man, Daisy … I had realized that I couldn't live happily without her, you see.

"But I will say this, which you may or may not choose to believe: I thought, at the time I'd sent her away, that she'd be better off in the long run without me. I didn't want to put her in a situation where she'd be forced into a workhouse, or into a marriage where we'd certainly both have been unemployed, not sure where our next meal was coming from, and in no decent place to raise a child. When she'd written to tell me she'd left you with another family, I was well and truly shocked. I wholly expected that, if she didn't stay on the farm to raise you, she'd have left you with her mother. To this day I don't understand what changed her mind."

"She had no choice, Mr. Carson. Her Mam … well, she wouldn't have been able to care for me, not properly anyhow."

Charles looked back up at Daisy, realizing for the first time how calm she was about the entire situation, and understanding that Elsie had given up her entire side of the story to Daisy without question – something she'd not ever done for Charles. He expected to be jealous of this, but instead it only solidified what he knew in his heart, the thing he'd held onto since his time in hospital: _this_ was his family. Elsie. Daisy. _They_ were what he wanted in his life, _they_ were his focus now as they always should have been. The pull of the Abbey was waning rapidly, and Charles knew in that instant that if his Lordship walked through the pantry door and asked Charles to choose one over the other, there would be no contest, that his retirement would just be coming earlier than planned.

"No, I'm sure she didn't have a choice," he said, smiling at his daughter. "Daisy … I am aware that since my injury I've become something of a changed man. But you must understand that I have always regretted my actions, and that I was eternally grateful when you came to live here, to work for the family, as it put us all under the same roof. Your job here was a dreadfully poor substitute for the way I wish you'd been raised, and I know my words will never make up for the awful years you spent prior to arriving at Downton, but it was all I felt I could offer at the time."

She smiled sadly. "I know that, Mr. Carson. We all have regrets, but the more I think of it the more I realize that we are like a family here – _all_ of us. You and Mrs. Hughes have been parents to everyone downstairs over the years – William used to say that all the time," she said with a soft smile. "In a way I think it that makes it easier for me, because I already like and respect you both so very much."

Charles felt it then – a still, small, sparkling drop of hope. "Thank you, Daisy. But would you like, well, _more_ than that?" he asked patiently.

And he watched in wonder as her smile broadened, neither realizing in that moment that they were both thinking of a small, difficult walk down a non-existent aisle, father and daughter leaning on one another, on the morning Daisy always thought back to as the day she became a true adult, capable of making her own decisions. The symbolism of how he'd helped her on that journey did not escape her.

"I think I would," she answered quietly. "But I need some time to sort out how."

"Fair enough," Charles told her. He recognized the hesitancy, but also heard the sound of hope, saw the olive branch she had almost offered to him.

He'd waited over twenty years to have this conversation; he'd give her as long as she needed to figure it all out.

* * *

 **The image of the lace-making is straight out of "Lark Rise to Candleford" and Queenie's demonstration. What a lovely form of art, so sadly fallen by the wayside ...**

 **Reviews always welcome. :)**


	24. Interlude

**A/N: This chapter is called "Interlude" and serves as a check-in for where Elsie, Charles, Daisy, and Beryl are with the entire situation, focusing on their personal feelings (read: FEELSY).**

 **"Make You Feel My Love" still applying for this and one more chapter. Spotify playlist: ChelsieSouloftheAbbey and "Chelsie Potpourri" - or YouTube ... I prefer the Adele version.**

 **Thanks to brenna-louise for proofreading and for allowing me to bounce ideas off of her. If it weren't for her, theladychelsieofdownton, and silhouettedswallow, this story wouldn't have been written or published at all. xxx**

 **And a wee little nod to JustSterling. :)**

* * *

 _ **When the evening shadows and the stars appear,**_

 _ **And there is no one there to dry your tears,**_

 _ **I could hold you for a million years**_

 _ **To make you feel my love ...**_

She watched his slow, reluctant footsteps carry him down the corridor as he made his way back to the butler's pantry. The days had gone past in a flash as the Christmas holiday approached but the evenings had been unbearably long without him, without the comfort she'd gotten used to drawing from the fire in his pantry, from the warmth given by the proffered wine or sherry. Gone were his carefree manner and the extra glimmer of happiness in his eye with which he'd awoken in that hospital in London, on that day that seemed to her to have been millions of years ago even though it had been mere months. She'd scolded him twice for the winking but now she craved it, craved _any_ sign that all the progress they'd made hadn't disappeared down the drain now that their secrets were being thrust out in the open.

The cold, biting weather wasn't helping; despite the multitude of fires throughout the Abbey, the iciness penetrated her bones, making her joints stiff and her own steps a bit slower. It made her feel old, and made it harder to fight off the sadness that often permeated her mind at the holidays. Elsie loved Christmas but it was a constant reminder of how she and Becky were separated and, up until this year, the holidays had always served as a small reminder that the rest of her remaining 'family' _resided_ within her grasp, only she was forbidden by secrecy to reach out and touch them.

 _Oh, to hell with this!_ she decided suddenly, and she marched off down the corridor toward his pantry. She had all intentions of pulling him into her arms at last, of pulling out of him the fear and sadness that she had been reading in his expression these past many days, and of offering all she had to give, her job be damned.

But two steps from his doorway she stopped abruptly, her hand slightly raised as she'd been preparing to knock ... and she wondered. Wondered what she was doing there, why she continued to push despite the fact that he'd been ignoring her for days, wondered if she'd be better to just pick up sticks and leave the entire place behind, move closer to Becky and take a job in a smaller house. At her age, no less.

But she tilted her head and listened instead, hearing the tick of the clock coming from the other side of his door … and her finely-tuned ear picked up on the faint, rhythmic sounds of quiet weeping.

She tiptoed forward the remaining two steps until her hand reached the handle. She turned it gently ... and found it locked.

 _Locked._ He'd never locked her out before. _Never._ She wasn't sure what to do about that.

Well, what she _wanted_ to do was pull a hairpin out of her tightly-wound tresses and bend it, then crouch down and pick the lock, something her Da had taught her to do when she was a lass and she'd accidentally locked her parents out of the house, only to marvel at how they'd gotten back in. But she couldn't do that _now_ , not _here_ , couldn't invade his privacy when he'd clearly shut her out on purpose. She was no fool, and she knew he'd have heard her steps from miles away, and that he'd have opened the door if he wanted to speak to her. But that knowledge didn't stop her from wanting to unlock the door and rush over to him, to reach up and dry his tears with her soft fingertips, to murmur words of reassurance and love against his lips as the fire dwindled down in his fireplace.

Instead, she stood there like a fool, her hand on the knob of the door that was separating this life she'd accepted from the one she'd wanted, thanking God that no one was there to see her frozen in place, unsure, the housekeeper who'd always been in control of everything now standing on the edge of indecision.

Eventually she removed her hand from the brass and turned to walk away. She'd march herself up to bed and try once again, unsuccessfully, to find some sleep. She knew that she would end up laying awake, daydreaming of a way that she and Charlie and Daisy could craft some sort of family, some kind of new way of being together for whatever time remained to her on earth. She'd spent so many years suffering under Charlie's desire to ignore the past, and then more years trying to pick away at him and convince him that he could, indeed, be happy with her despite all they'd been through. She'd ponder that as she lay awake in her bed, gathering whatever warmth she could from the goose-down and from the hearth, her thoughts full of _him_ even though she was always alone.

She made it four steps away from the door before she heard the click of the lock, the turn of the knob, and the swish of air as he finally, _finally,_ opened the door to let her in.

* * *

 _ **I know you haven't made your mind up yet,**_

 _ **But I will never do you wrong.**_

 _ **I've known it from the moment that we met,**_

 _ **No doubt in my mind where you belong.**_

Charles walked briskly down the corridor, anxious to be shut away from the world in his pantry. It was his haven, his home within the house, had been for so long he could barely remember _not_ having it. There had been a great many things he'd forgotten over the course of his recent history, but the safety, comfort, and sanctity of having his own space carved out in the chaos had been immediately soothing to him upon his return from London. Tonight, his footsteps couldn't carry him there fast enough.

He wasn't sure when his patience had snapped, exactly; patience was required of a butler, the ability to stand and wait and not even flinch. But the waiting for _this_ was killing him, waiting for Daisy to decide if and how he'd be able to be a part of her life, and whether or not he and Elsie would be able to find a way to be together in the middle of all of it - because that was what he _wanted_ , he'd figured that one out a long time ago. These feelings he had now weren't Mr. Carson at all - no, this impatient man so full of the sensation of being carried away by his feelings was all Charlie.

The thing was, he didn't regret the reemergence of Charlie. He wished he'd been able to dig the man out long ago, perhaps the day at the beach, or when Elsie had worried she had cancer. Yes, that surely would have been a good time. Or perhaps when she'd come to Downton to begin with? Instead, he'd suppressed his old feelings, and he'd done so admirably; what he hadn't counted on was that _she_ would be just as adept at it in those early days. Her standoffish behavior, her cool demeanor toward him from that first day, was something he'd not expected. She'd arrived the pristine professional "matron," even as head housemaid. Every once in awhile he'd spotted something in her eyes that suggested she was less than happy, but before he could put his finger on it, it was gone. He was so used to being in control, but clearly he could never be in control of Elsie.

But then she'd changed. She'd opened up, and had begun to get him to open up as well. He knew now that in his confusion after the accident, the past and present had fused in his mind. If not for her gentle, kind way with him upon his return, he'd never have been able to sort it all in his mind.

But he didn't _want_ to sort them apart now, didn't want them separated any longer. _Funny,_ he told himself, _how something that could have killed you ended up bringing your life back to you instead._

He sat heavily in his chair, fiddling with his fountain pen - screwing the cap off, then flitting it around in his hands (an old magic trick from the stage) before screwing it back on. _Three and a half full turns until it's tight._ _Repeat._

Charles wanted to have Daisy and Elsie in his life, in more than a professional way, there was no question about that. He'd come to that decision weeks ago and would not be changing his mind, and had promised to give Daisy as much time as she needed to figure out where they'd all go from here. He'd meant it at the time, not knowing how difficult it would be to keep that oath.

What if Daisy didn't want him? What if _Elsie_ no longer wanted him? Those two now had each other, of that he was sure - the passing off of the handkerchief was proof enough of that. They were certain to develop some mother-daughter way of being, and why _wouldn't_ Daisy want that, a chance to have the mother she always should have had?

He wished he could tell his daughter so many things he'd never gotten the chance to say. He wanted her to know that from the moment that scared little girl had stepped off of the train, his hopes of ignoring her presence in the house had vanished into thin air. Her resemblance to Elsie's younger self had been remarkable - her _eyes_ were so much like her mother's that he'd wondered how no one figured out the truth the moment he'd escorted Daisy through the door. He'd tucked himself back into 'the butler' then and ignored everything he felt; he became brash and strict and all those things a butler was supposed to be. He never spent time in the kitchens anyhow, so it wasn't terribly hard to avoid the girl.

But he'd observed her over the years, oh yes. From his seat at the head of the table, he observed all. Certainly, Mrs. Patmore's constant scolding of Daisy had helped. No one had noticed his interest because the cook's behavior demanded so much attention. It had been a blessing for him, despite how hard it had been for Daisy, and it had allowed his little girl to grow up before his eyes without anyone being the wiser. He'd always been grateful to Mrs. Patmore for that, for doing what he and Elsie could not. The funny thing was that, back in the day, Charlie and Beryl had started at Downton together, had become great friends in many ways. The fact that she was now raising his daughter was something … well, _odd,_ particularly once she'd become friends with Elsie as well.

Now that he thought about it, it was not long after Daisy had arrived that Elsie had begun to reach out to him again - quite literally. Touch was so forbidden in their profession, no doubt having added to the intense passion they'd shared that summer in London. But the familiar touch of her hand, the accidental bump of her knee against his, her guiding tug when he needed one, and steady fingers administering medication or fluffing a pillow, or adding a blanket and allowing the weight of it to push her hand against his chest - those things reminded him of all that he'd been missing. He'd been flustered by her touch at first, but the loving familiarity of it was so wonderful that he'd allowed it. He had come to realize he couldn't possibly live without her in his life. When he'd feared she had cancer, his relief at her clean bill of health had been palpable. Then she'd come to London and rescued them all by sweeping in and taking control of Grantham House. And she'd reached her hand out to him, and he'd taken it, had let her steady him. After all those years, after he'd loved her and refused her and begged her to return to him, it had been _Elsie_ who'd reached out to _him._

It was the greatest touch she could have offered him, and his heart had _soared_.

And then he'd been in that awful accident, and had almost lost it all again, _could_ have lost it all again, but Elsie's pull, her voice that beckoned to him from the recesses of his dreams like a siren song and then helped him build the butler back up; quite literally, she had saved him.

And now he _truly_ remembered _,_ without the strange hesitancy from before. He wanted it all now, and wanted to convince Daisy and Elsie that things would be different. He wished he could just pull them into his pantry and demand that they all be a family. He wished Daisy would know how far he'd go to protect her, and how he'd never do them wrong again. He needed them both to hear how he'd lost his heart the day that little girl stepped out onto a train platform in Ripon, and how he'd only truly lost it once before, on a similar platform in London when he'd sent her mother away to Scotland. He had been lucky in both instances to get his heart back, and he knew he had Elsie to thank for it. Over the years, she'd given him back his capacity to love, had handed it to him in cups of tea, gentle touches, caring glances, and the offer of a steadying hand. He wanted to return the favor, to both Elsie _and_ Daisy, but he saw the chance slipping from his grasp with each passing day.

He was a patient man, but that patience was wearing thin, and he was scared.

He put the pen back in its box and reached for the bottom, right-hand drawer of his desk. He opened it slowly and extracted a small item from the back. It was a photograph of a little girl - of _his_ little girl - as an infant. Elsie had sent it to him after Daisy - _Margaret,_ he thought - had been born, when she'd written as he had requested to assure him that they were both fine. He wasn't sure she even remembered sending it, and he knew she had no idea he'd held onto it - and the letter - for all these years. She _certainly_ had no idea he'd withdraw it once or twice a year just to look at it, to imagine what Daisy's life had been like without him, without a father that could have loved her unconditionally if he'd given himself the chance.

There was no doubt in his mind that they all belonged together; he just had to convince them that he meant that.

He heard the familiar footsteps walking through the corridor as a tear slid onto his thumb. Charles hadn't noticed he'd begun weeping, but the instant he heard the clicking of her heels and felt the worn edge of the photograph he fell apart completely. He wanted desperately to let her in, sobbing or not, but wasn't sure if she'd even want to speak to him.

 _Perhaps, Charlie,_ he thought, _they don't need you at all anymore._

 _No._

He rose and headed for the door, sensing that she was waiting on the other side, and he turned the lock and heard the sharp _click_ of it sliding over. He wiped his face and, hoping for a miracle, he turned the knob and pulled.

* * *

 _ **The winds of change are blowing wild and free,**_

 _ **You ain't seen nothing like me yet.**_

Daisy stood at the window in the servants' hall, a cup of tea in her hand, and watched the first snowflakes of the season fall from the sky. She'd half expected to see Mrs. Hughes tonight, cold and damp as it had been earlier, but the woman was nowhere to be found. Daisy couldn't be sure, but she felt as though everyone was avoiding her, waiting for her decision. She wasn't sure what they all expected of her - perhaps dilly dallying, indecisiveness, or childish petulance.

Well, she wasn't that little tweenie anymore.

Daisy had figured out what she wanted; she wanted a _family,_ pure and simple.

The more she'd reflected on everything she'd been told - from both Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson - the more she knew she couldn't possibly hold this whole thing against them. The past years had, in many ways, been as painful for them as they had been for her, except that Daisy at least had the sweet, early childhood memories to hold onto, and had never known what she was missing out on.

When she arrived at Downton, it had been Mrs. Patmore who had filled that parent void in her life, and then Mr. Mason. Daisy knew that she wanted to keep them in her life forever; they were so dear to her she couldn't possibly put it into words. She was determined that this whole strange, unforeseen ordeal would bring everyone _together_ , that she wouldn't let it shatter them all apart, unable to forgive or to heal or move forward. But she'd never have had Mrs. Patmore or Mr. Mason if her real parents hadn't brought her to Downton as soon as they knew what her life was really like. In a way, she had Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson to thank for bringing those she _thought of_ as her parents into her life.

 _How strange. How sadly, wonderfully strange it all is._

Daisy saw how Mr. Carson looked at her recently, gazing at her from his seat at the table, peering through the kitchen door when he thought she wasn't looking. He was avoiding her at all costs as though he were afraid of her, and Mrs. Hughes had made herself scarce as well. Daisy appreciated the space, but she'd have loved to have been able to comfort them with a kind word or an encouraging smile, to reassure them that all would be well.

She knew they didn't expect her to take charge - not quiet, meek, reserved Daisy. Well, she'd changed as much as they all had. They'd spent the past twelve years together working in the same house, but now that Daisy knew the truth, they could never go back to just that.

 _Tomorrow,_ she thought. _I'll tell them tomorrow._

She just hoped that, after a week of barely even seeing one another, they'd not changed their minds about wanting their daughter back.

She rinsed and dried her cup and put it back on the shelf. She double-checked the stove, then quietly headed up to her room for a few hours' sleep.

* * *

 _ **I'd go hungry; I'd go black and blue,**_

 _ **And I'd go crawling down the avenue.**_

 _ **No, there's nothing that I wouldn't do**_

 _ **To make you feel my love.**_

Beryl sat in her room, wide awake. The events from the last few days had stunned her, well and truly. She'd been struggling to maintain a sense of normalcy in her manner, dreading how awful it would be if anyone discovered what was making her so snippy lately. It wasn't as though she was angry, but she was quite sad. Daisy had yet to decide how her life would play out, and Beryl realized that Elsie and Charles must be feeling a greater strain than she was. They were maintaining their sense of calm and propriety remarkably well, she gave them that. She could tell things were different between her friends, but had no real reason to question either one about it. They seemed like the Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson of years ago, the two people who danced around each other as if in avoidance of something they didn't want to touch. She wanted to talk to them about it, but it wasn't her place.

Daisy, though … well, Beryl felt that she was _well_ within her rights to talk to Daisy. While Elsie and Charles had been busy not paying much attention to Daisy at all, Beryl had been there. She'd been the one to teach the girl, to make sure she had enough to eat throughout the day, make sure she had warm enough blankets on at night. She'd put salve on the inevitable first burns from the stove, plastered the first cut from a knife that was too dull, advised about boys, and encouraged Daisy to see the best in William, to give to him the best of herself and to be open to the love that William had offered in return. There was nothing that Beryl wouldn't do for her girl, and that was never going to change.

She got up and made her way to Daisy's room, having heard the girl come up moments before.

"Daisy?" she called softly. "Are you up, dear?"

She heard the faint sounds of movement from within the room, but no footsteps approached the door. Beryl sighed and turned away, not willing to wake her if she was finally asleep. She made her way back to her room and climbed into bed, lying awake, wondering if Elsie was doing the same.

 _Elsie Hughes … how could you have kept this from me?_

Store cupboard key, dozy kitchen maids, cantankerous butler, Ladies of the house with endless party demands and last-minute changes, illness, death, shameful stories of family and cowardice … how she and Elsie had handled these things had given birth to a strange and beautiful friendship that neither woman ever felt she deserved. It was impossible to want what was best for herself and best for Daisy without thinking about, without _caring_ about, what was best for Elsie.

Beryl wasn't sure how the woman had done it, frankly. She couldn't imagine how painful it must have been to have left Daisy behind as an infant, but to then find out she'd been sent somewhere else, to not really know _where,_ well, that was just awful. She was grateful they'd had the opportunity to find her and to bring her to Downton, but she wondered if that had been worse … to be face-to-face with the life you always wanted but had given up.

 _But now they can have it all, if Daisy wants that._

And what about Charles? Beryl had known him over half his life. The dear, sweet man. They'd become adults together at Downton; they may have had disagreements over the years but they were each other's oldest friend. He'd held her hand when she feared blindness, illness, and more; she'd supported him with words of encouragement when he didn't feel worthy of the family, when he didn't think himself capable of serving as butler. Their friendship had softened them both, and for that she'd always be grateful. She couldn't help but think of him in a different light now, knowing what she did about how he'd sent Elsie and his unborn child away. It was so unlike the man she thought she knew.

 _But he brought her back. He brought them BOTH here, to watch out for them. And he DID watch out for them, didn't he? Them and everyone else in the great house … including you, Beryl._

She remembered that Season in London when he'd evidently met Elsie, remembered him heading out at every available moment; she'd thought he'd become mates with some of the footmen and valets that hung about that pub by the park. She never set foot in the place, so how could she have known?

Now she knew where he'd been, whom he'd been spending his time with, and she couldn't believe she hadn't noticed the difference in his demeanor that year. She did pick up on his new formality and harsher nature when they returned, but she'd always attributed it to the fact that he'd been promoted to butler, assumed he was putting forth a new persona to match the job title. She shook her head at the memories; clearly, Charles Carson had been doing more than spending time at the local.

Her two dearest friends in the world. It _hurt_ that they'd not confided in her, not once.

Beryl Patmore didn't often pray, but she prayed that night. She'd do anything in her power to bring peace to them all, as soon as Daisy was ready. She had faith in her girl, now no longer a girl at all, really, and knew she'd make the right choices.

Prayer sent, she rolled over and put out her bedside light. She tucked her blankets around herself and slipped off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

If you'd be willing to drop me a little review, I'd be eternally grateful! xx


	25. A Confession

**A/N: Thanks to the sweet and very helpful brenna-louise for beta work!**

 **I think many of you have been waiting for this bit - and it answers a question a couple of you had several chapters ago.**

 **Just a few more to go - drop me a note and let me know what you think. :)**

 **Special shout-out to the guest reviewers who send me amazing feedback to which I cannot respond in person. I do appreciate it all.**

 **xx**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 _ **I could make you happy, make your dreams come true.**_

 _ **Nothing that I wouldn't do.**_

 _ **Go to the ends of the Earth for you,**_

 _ **To make you feel my love ...**_

 _ **To make you feel my love.**_

"Charlie," she whispered, practically running back to the door and into his pantry, placing her soft, strong hands in his. "I'd about given up on you."

"I'm glad you didn't," he replied, looking deep into her eyes, the both of them knowing that they weren't referring to the unlocking of the door.

"Me, too."

Charles moved away from her and closed the door again, locking it behind him, as Elsie took a seat in the chair at his desk. He turned and spotted her there, letting out a laugh at how its size completely dwarfed her frame.

"And just what do you think you're doing, Mrs. Hughes?" he teased.

"Making myself comfortable, Mr. Carson," she said with a smirk. "Would you begrudge me the opportunity to be comfortable?"

She enjoyed the sound of his low, rumbling chuckle - a sound she'd heard precious few times over the course of her life - and let it fortify her.

"Are you alright?" she asked gently.

He nodded. "Yes, I think so, thank you. I am just tired of _waiting_. I know she needs time, but …"

"I know," Elsie said, getting up. "You can have your chair if you like," she continued, but he waved his hand in the air, motioning for her to sit down as he pulled another chair over. The familiar hand-waving motion took her aback - it was such a Mr. Carson thing to do, not a Charlie thing.

"What?" he asked, noticing her expression.

Elsie smiled and shook her head, then tilted it as she contemplated him. "Oh, I don't know. I'm not quite sure what to make of you sometimes."

"How do you mean?" he asked, his expression clearly showing fascination at her words.

She bit down on her lip, trying to come up with the way to explain it. "It's just that, lately, you've been so much more … open, I suppose. This entire situation with you remembering Daisy, and wanting to _claim her_ instead of pretending she means nothing special to us … well, it's so _Charlie._ So not the _Mr. Carson_ I encountered when I started working here. And when you're like that, it's easy to forget that more reserved man. But then you'll do something that is so _Mr. Carson,_ and it shakes me. It's like I'm living in two worlds with you, and unsure of where I stand in each. Does that make sense?"

Charles nodded. "Oh, believe me, it does. I find it difficult myself to sort my feelings, it's as though I'm figuring out who I truly am all over again. I'm sixty-six years old, Elsie, and trying to determine what I want out of my life. I'm unsure where I stand - with the family, with Daisy … with you."

She nodded, humming in agreement. _Goodness, Elsie … it's so hard for you, imagine how it must be for HIM._

"Have you given any more thought to our investment cottage on Brouncker Road?" he asked suddenly. "Because I'm thinking, it could come in handy in more ways than just one. If Daisy were to move away, but if she accepts us, wants to visit and have a place to stay, it would be nice …"

 _Oh no, not tonight. I didn't want to do this tonight,_ Elsie thought.

"I'm not sure …" she stalled. "Do we have to decide tonight?"

Charles furrowed his brow, suddenly suspicious. "No, but Elsie … do you not _want_ to do it? Invest in a property together? I thought … well, I don't know what I thought. That things were progressing before, that after all that's happened since that horrid accident things were better, perhaps? You _seemed_ to want this … when we were looking at them all ..." he trailed off, the unsurety seeping back in once again.

She sat back in the chair with a sigh."It's not that I don't want to go in on a property with you, not at all."

"Then what?"

Elsie twisted her hands in her lap, trying to come up with the right words. In the end, she settled for direct and to the point.

"I can see there's no way around it … I'm just going to have to tell you the truth."

"I've never caught you in a lie, Elsie Hughes?" His incredulous look just made her all the more uncomfortable, but she forced herself to tell her story.

"I have a sister, Charlie," she said softly.

"A _sister?_ But … but I thought your mother had been the last of your family?"

"Because that's what I wanted you to think." She twisted her hands in her lap, suddenly missing the loving, warm grasp of his own, and feeling so very, very ashamed that she'd never entrusted him with her secret.

"Her name is Becky. I've never told you about her because … well … I suppose after all these years I'm just so used to keeping her hidden away from a world that doesn't understand what it's like for people who are ..." she smiled softly, "well, who are the way Becky is."

She saw his look of confusion. "She's not quite right in the head, you see. And, since my mother died, she's lived in a seaside home in Lytham St. Anne's, and I send money to them every month for her care."

"But your mother died quite a while ago," Charles gasped. "That must be costing you a fortune!"

She nodded. "It's cost me every penny I have, and then some. I don't see how I could _ever_ afford to retire. I've just got to hope that they'll keep me on as long as possible here, and care for me when I cannot continue working.

"Becky was the reason I couldn't stay on the farm with a bairn," she continued. "I couldn't trust her to be gentle, and I needed to work. I knew I'd have to save whatever I could beyond what I was sending back to help them, because I knew once my Mam was gone, Becky's care would be up to me. When I returned home, with child, the farm was already failing.

"It seems silly now that I never told you. I'm not sure why I let myself get caught up in our little dream for as long as I did. But I can't go in with you, Charlie ... I'm a pauper. I do hope you can make a go of it yourself, but I won't be able to be a part of it." She looked away from his painfully hurt gaze and down at her hands again, trying desperately not to cry.

Charles stood and leaned over her, grasping her hands and pulling her up from the chair. He kissed the back of her knuckles, then leaned over and placed another kiss to her forehead. She looked up at him, startled, and saw the utter adoration in his eyes. It was unnerving, exhilarating … and it felt like _home._ She couldn't help the sigh that escaped her lips.

Charles reached his hand up and caressed her cheek, letting his gaze stay on her deep, blue, beautiful eyes a moment longer before leaning down to place his lips on hers. The sound of her tiny moan did not escape his ears, and he almost lost himself completely. This was so very unlike the other kiss they'd shared; this wasn't relief at having remembered the past, it wasn't the comfort of two friends who'd just had a horrible row. This was the coming together of long-ago lovers who had been separated by decades of shame, anger, hurt, and walls of defenses, only to have fought their way through them all and found each other once again, now healed from it all and ready to move forward. It was a promise of things to come: faithfulness, love, openness, and family.

He pulled back, and Elsie felt the loss immediately. His kiss had awakened a sense of purpose in her, a rededication to the path she'd long since wandered from - the desire to have this man in her life, as a full partner, as part of a family.

 _Except that you can't have it all, Elsie, as you've just made clear._

"I _am_ going to purchase that cottage, Elsie, and your name _is_ going to be on the deed."

He startled her out of her reverie. "What?"

"I'll hear no arguments about it _._ I have the means to do it, and I hate to change a plan when there's no need."

"Charlie, I can't accept that from you."

"Why not?" he asked, clearly flustered.

"' _Why not?'_ Charlie," she admonished, "look at us! All these changes, coming along so fast. I just … it's too much."

"Elsie Hughes, please, _listen to me,"_ he pleaded. "I found the love of my life in London twenty-seven years ago. I was swept off my feet, and was foolish to send you away because I couldn't give up my own pride. I hurt the two people I love most in the world in the process, and I can never make up for that.

"And then, by the grace of God, you came back into my life and, once again, I was too obstinate to accept you. I made you crack away at me over the years in some attempt at getting something, _anything_ that I might offer you. I had blinders on, and they only started to fall away when I realized I truly could have lost you again - first to Joe Burns, and then to cancer."

"But it _wasn't_ cancer," she reminded him quietly. "And I'd never have married Joe. Once I thought about it, I realized that I couldn't leave you or Daisy behind." Smiling, she added, "I told you before, I'm not that farm girl anymore."

"Yes, I know, and I've sent up many a thankful prayer for that ever since." He smiled at her, and placed another kiss to her forehead, and sighed.

"But then that blasted train went off the tracks, and I could have died, Elsie. I think I was meant to, at one point. I had the strangest dream, you see, when I was unconscious in hospital. I was floating about, and there was this enormous building - which I know now was the Abbey - standing there in the distance, and I could feel it pulling at me, trying to draw me in. But I was distracted, you see, by this lovely, lilting, singing Scottish voice." He smiled. "It called to me like a siren, and I knew I had to follow it. It made me want to wake up, to fight my way toward where you were."

"Oh, Charlie," she whispered, her tears finally spilling over. "I _was_ singing to you, you know. When you were unconscious."

He bent down and kissed away her tears. "I realized you must have been. Your voice opened up inside of me a chasm from which all of the best parts of my past came forth, challenging me to make a choice. And I _did_ , Elsie. Only, when I woke, I didn't yet know what the building was, or to whom the voice belonged. But I knew I had a _family,_ a true family. I was certain of having a daughter, somewhat less certain that I had a wife, but if I had a daughter I figured I _must_ have a wife - it was the only sensible conclusion," he said sheepishly.

She shook her head. "Well, our little situation isn't exactly sensible, now, is it?" She gave him a sad smile.

"No, it isn't. But I made my way to you in the end, didn't I?"

"Yes, I suppose you did. But this cottage, Charlie …"

"I am going to do as I said, Elsie, and you'll not change my mind. If there is one thing that I've learned - both as Mr. Carson and as Charlie - it's that life changes when you least expect it. Change is frightening, thrilling, and unavoidable. You have seen me through so much, Elsie, and I wouldn't have made it here without you. I want to be stuck with you, love, for as long as you'll have me."

And, with that, there was really nothing more to say.


	26. Daisy's Decision

**A/N: Thanks to brenna-louise for input and proofreading - and the song! xx**

 **Enjoy, everyone! The song is "A Sign of the Times," by Petula Clark, and is on my Spotify "Chelsie Potpourri" playlist.**

* * *

 _ **It's a sign of the times**_

 _ **That your love for me is getting so much stronger**_

 _ **It's a sign of the times**_

 _ **And I know that I won't have to wait much longer**_

 _ **You've changed a lot somehow**_

 _ **From the one I used to know**_

 _ **For when you hold me now**_

 _ **I feel like you never want to let me go**_

 _ **I'll never understand**_

 _ **The way you treated me**_

 _ **But when I hold your hand**_

 _ **I know you couldn't be the way you used to be ...**_

* * *

Elsie accompanied Charles on his final walk-through of the house before heading up for the night. She had initially declined the invitation to join him, but after a few minutes she was glad she had changed her mind. She found it comforting watching him move about the house, checking everything in that meticulous way that he had. It was both Mr. Carson _and_ her Charlie – something she never thought she'd see outside of hospital, his pantry, or her sitting room. And when he closed the library doors behind them, he reached out and took her hands in his, placing the gentlest of kisses to the inside of her left wrist. The warmth from the gesture went right down to the center of her body, and she was grateful for the relative darkness of the corridor so that her deep flush would not be so evident.

Their potential future together, the thing she'd desired for so very many years, had gone from seemingly impossible to frightfully intense in a matter of hours, and Elsie wasn't sure what to do with that. The last time they'd been in that situation … _Well,_ she thought. _You were younger then, and … shapelier._ Try as she might, she couldn't get that niggling feeling out of the back of her mind that now, older and not nearly as daring as she'd been then, he would somehow find her inadequate, a poor substitute for the woman he'd known so intimately in London.

But when she looked in his eyes as his lips met her other wrist, she _felt_ over twenty years younger in the blink of an eye, and it scared the daylights out of her. She couldn't afford to lose her job _now,_ not after working her whole life to get where she was. Anna and John Bates had been extraordinarily lucky that their relationship and marriage had been supported by the family, but Elsie harbored no assumptions that the Crawleys would be that generous again, certainly not with their heads of staff.

"Charlie," she warned softly, unable to mask the desire in her voice, "not here. Not … not now."

He sighed. "I know." _But soon, I hope._

He kept her left hand in his right, though, and they made their way through the rest of the house in silence.

As they approached the servants' stairs, Elsie unclipped her chatelaine to open the door that separated the women's and men's quarters. She removed her hand from his and smiled at him, then turned to reach the door and place the key in the lock. She heard him approach, sensed him moving impossibly nearer to her, and she gasped when she could feel his body directly behind hers, the heat from it encompassing her.

"I can't bear to leave you," he whispered in her ear. "I am sorry if I am overwhelming you, but you should know."

She took a deep breath, not daring to turn lest she lose complete control over herself. "I do," she whispered back. "I do know, Charlie."

He backed away, brushing his hand over her hip as he did so, and turned to walk to his room. Elsie turned the key and opened the door, passing through it quickly and locking it behind her. She watched through the window as Charles made his way down the corridor, and her heart felt as though it were fluttering between her chest and her stomach when he turned to smile at her … and sent her a wink before ducking through his bedroom door.

 _Oh, Elsie,_ she thought as she floated into her own room. _Whatever are you going to do about THIS?_

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

Charles woke before dawn, lying in bed and reflecting on the past few days. He felt like a new man, which was ironic as it really just meant he felt like his old self. Turning on his side, he settled into a comfortable position and let his thoughts wander, hoping but not really expecting to fall asleep again.

He thought of Elsie, of Daisy, and of where they all might be headed. He was pleased to find that he no longer dreaded Daisy's decision, and knew that was because he and Elsie seemed to be in a more promising place now. The barely-tempered passion between them last night was proof enough of what was to come, provided that she allowed it to unfold. He wanted her, he knew that - he wanted it _all_ \- but he knew that even if he only ever had Elsie, he'd be happier than he had any right to be. A relationship with Daisy on top of that? He'd be overjoyed.

 _Call today and make that appointment, Charlie old boy. Get all the paperwork signed for the purchase of that house, and then move forward with the rest._

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

Morning came too quickly, and Elsie woke to the knock on her door. The maid's knock wasn't often necessary as Elsie was often already downstairs by six o'clock, but she'd slept surprisingly deeply and had woken with no memories of any dreaming, either. That surprised her; after weeks of tossing and turning and worrying, her mind seemed to have settled at last. It was the best sleep she'd had in ages, and she felt ready to tackle the day.

As she dressed, she allowed hope to flutter inside of her heart. Their nearly-silent walk through the house last night only confirmed what Elsie had already suspected: she and Charles were becoming impossibly closer to something powerful, if only she would allow it. She'd made her decision on that score as she'd drifted off to sleep: she'd determined that he need only ask and she'd be his forever. And if Daisy decided to be part of their life together, Elsie's joy would know no bounds. Finally, _finally,_ they could be the family they always should have been.

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

Daisy added the finishing touches to the servants' breakfast. She didn't notice that she was humming until Mrs. Patmore commented on it.

"Something making you particularly happy today?" Beryl asked her.

"Yes, actually," Daisy replied, smiling at her. She looked around to be sure no one else was in the kitchen, then added quietly, "and I hope it involves you."

Beryl stopped dead in her tracks, trying to make her heart start beating again. "Then you've decided how to … proceed with it all?" she managed.

Daisy nodded. "Yes, I have. I'd like to talk to you all together, but that's nearly impossible around here." She nodded to one of the maids who passed through the kitchen. "Perhaps you and I could chat after luncheon?"

Beryl nodded. "That should be fine." She looked up from what she was doing, saw Daisy's brilliant smile, and returned it in kind.

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

Elsie met Charles at the bottom of the stairs, quite by accident, although she couldn't help but wonder if he'd been waiting for her.

"Mr. Carson," she nodded with a shy smile, "good morning."

They fell into step side-by-side. "Good morning, Mrs. Hughes. Did you sleep well?"

"Like a baby, actually. I'm quite thankful. You?"

 _This is innane,_ he thought.

"Fairly well once I managed to get there," he answered quietly. "I was rather wound up in the beginning ..."

Elsie couldn't contain her blush and she turned her head sideways to look at him, incredulous. As they passed into the servants' hall he just smiled innocently, one eyebrow raised. With a huff and a bemused shake of her head, she made her way to her seat.

She looked around the table, and saw Thomas Barrow giving her a rather smug look. Elsie dropped her eyes to the bowl of porridge in front of her, and surreptitiously moved her legs far away from Charles, striking up a conversation with Anna instead.

 _Oh, no._

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

"Mr. Carson? Might I have a moment?" Beryl asked, knocking on the half-open pantry door.

"Of course," he replied graciously, capping his pen as he did so. The afternoon had been relatively calm, and he had some free time. "Please, have a seat. What can I help you with?"

Beryl was agitated, he could tell. Her eyes darted around the room, and she was wringing her hands.

"Mrs. Patmore?" he asked quietly. "Are you alright?"

She took a deep breath as she sat, and looked up at him. He was shocked to see that her eyes were watery. It gave him pause, and he rose from the chair at his desk, pulling another over to sit alongside her in front of the fire. They both faced the flames, gathering courage for the conversation ahead.

"Beryl?"

His use of her first name drew her out of her fog. " _Why?_ Why did you never tell me? After all this time … you never said a word _._ I can understand _her_ not wanting to discuss it … but you?"

He placed his hands on his knees and sighed deeply. "I don't know," he answered weakly. Then, after a pause, "No, that's not true. I _do_ know."

He looked at his friend, his oldest friend in the world, he realized. He smiled sadly as he attempted an explanation.

"I was ashamed. I had such a chance for happiness – _true_ happiness – and I threw it all away. I did exactly what we always tell them not to do," he said, waving his hand in the general direction of the servants' hall, indicating the younger staff. "I lost control, I let my emotions guide me instead of my mind. And, when it came down to it, I made the wrong choice. The _coward's_ choice."

"Yes, you did," she agreed. "And I understand that."

"What?"

She nodded. "I _do._ I know you, Charles Carson. You don't shirk responsibility lightly. You would never have sent Mrs. Hughes away if you had the slightest thought that marriage would have been the best option. I'm sure you had your reasons to think she'd be fine. The farm, perhaps?"

"Yes," he answered quietly. "I thought she'd just go home, leave the child there …"

" _Daisy,_ Mr. Carson. Not 'the child.' _Daisy._ No sense in pretending that we don't all know."

He sighed. "No, I suppose not."

"Why _didn't_ she leave Daisy with her Mam? That's the one thing I don't understand."

He looked her in the eyes. "I know, and I am afraid I will not be the one to divulge that information. But there were … reasons, and it was not possible. I didn't know then what I know now. Suffice to say, if I did, we would not be having this conversation."

Beryl nodded. "Alright," she said slowly. "But why bring her here?"

"Who, _Daisy_? Because of the –"

"No, not Daisy! _Mrs. Hughes._ Why bring her here after all of that? What made her even want to come?"

"I was selfish, Mrs. Patmore. I _am_ selfish. I'd sent her away, and regretted it every day. But then we needed a new head housemaid, and I knew she was unhappy with the position she held when I'd met her. We'd discussed it when … well. We'd discussed it," he said sheepishly. "She was in need of a better position in a bigger house. I knew her well enough to know she'd be more than capable of being both a head housemaid and, eventually, housekeeper and … well, I missed her."

"I am sure you did. And so she accepted, despite everything, obviously." Beryl shook her head, trying to put herself in Elsie's position, and finding herself unable to wrap her mind around the choice to come to Downton at all. "I just can't understand _why_."

"Because she missed him, too," came Elsie's voice from the doorway. "Despite all that had happened."

Beryl's head flew around to face Elsie. "Oh," she gasped. "Mrs. Hughes, I'm …"

"Don't, please," Elsie said, closing the door firmly behind her and making her way into the room. "Don't apologize. I'm the one who should be asking _your_ forgiveness."

Charles rose from his chair to offer it to Elsie, who squeezed his arm briefly and shot him a grateful smile as she passed in front of him to sit. He had no idea how long she'd been at the door, but figured she'd heard enough.

"I never meant to deceive you," Elsie told Beryl. "It was just never the right time to tell you. We didn't even get on when I first arrived!"

Beryl chuckled. "Well, that's the truth!"

Elsie looked up at Charles, but continued to address the cook. "It certainly wouldn't have done to spill our secret here. Besides," she said, turning her gaze to Beryl, "Mr. Carson was different. More … reserved, certainly. He didn't think it would be wise for anyone to know we weren't total strangers the day I arrived here, and I agreed at the time.

"We didn't anticipate how much we would butt heads. We'd clearly both been in service for years, but not _together._ We are more alike than we are unalike, I think. It was … different. And, after a while, it was so different that it wasn't so hard to try and forget, to pretend we didn't have any sort of past together."

Beryl nodded slowly, understanding creeping in.

"I am truly sorry that we didn't tell you when Daisy first came to Downton. I hadn't known how truly awful that home had been – didn't even know she'd been _sent_ there at first and, when I did hear from that awful woman, she asked that I not come and find Daisy. Told me she was _happy_ there. Only toward the end did I suspect the truth. Once I did," she said, looking at Charles again, "I knew we had to get her out of there."

"The nerve of the woman," he muttered, shaking his head, "after all these years."

"What do you mean?" Beryl asked.

"She wrote to the Dowager, attempted to blackmail her, demanded money to keep quiet about the secret that would bring 'shame to the house of Grantham,'" Elsie scoffed. "Imagine how well _that_ went."

" _The DOWAGER knows? The Dowager Countess of Grantham?!"_

Charles laughed. "Not only does she know, she had the vile woman arrested."

"Well, I'll be," Beryl mused, awestruck. "But surely if she knows …"

"She will say nothing," Charles answered swiftly.

"Dr. Clarkson also knows," Elsie said quietly, looking at Beryl. "I had to tell him, when I thought I had cancer. When he examined me …"

"Ah … of course," Beryl nodded. "He could tell you'd borne a child."

"Yes. He didn't know about Charlie, though, not until later," Elsie replied, not realizing she'd dropped his familiar name until she saw the smirk on her friend's face. "Until the accident, when I was sent to London. I had to tell Dr. Gill, the London doctor, in case any of our story came to light. He had to know the truth, to determine the facts from imaginings, in order to be of any assistance whatsoever, and so did Dr. Clarkson. It would have been foolish not to let them in," she finished.

"Not once I woke up and started speaking … asking for my daughter and my wife, no less," Charles added. "And I knew I wasn't making it all up, but I just didn't know how to explain it."

Beryl took Elsie's hand. "I've no idea how you did it all these years," she said, shaking her head. "How you stayed back, let her find her own way."

"You took such good care of her, you know. You didn't need me," Elsie whispered. "I knew she was in good hands. I think she might prefer it stay that way."

"What? Oh! Have you not seen her today?" Beryl exclaimed. "Have you not spoken? I assumed you had, that she'd managed to speak with you _both."_

Charles and Elsie stared at her, neither daring to hope. "About what, exactly?" Charles asked hesitantly.

Beryl took a deep breath. "Daisy wants to get to know you better. She wants … well, _more parents_ , I think, in a way. Something more, anyhow, than what she has now, with Mr. Mason and myself. I think she wants the openness, but realizes that could be … dangerous," she finished weakly, her eyes begging them to understand. "She would never jeopardize your jobs."

"No, I don't expect she would," Elsie answered honestly. "And it's very kind of her to think of that."

She looked up at Charles, who laid his hand on her shoulder. "Now what?" he asked.

"Now we find Daisy and have a nice, long talk," Elsie said with a sigh. "And let her know that we want more as well – in whatever way she is willing to give it."

He nodded, then turned his attention back to Beryl. She got up from her seat abruptly, suddenly having realized how long they'd been shut away in the pantry.

"I should go back," she said. She took a moment to gaze at Elsie and Charles. "Thank you for being so honest with me," she added. "I know it can't have been easy." She moved toward the door, then turned back and faced her friends.

"You know that you seem … _different_ … now, don't you? Closer, more at ease with one another."

She stopped talking, and smiled as her brain reached the inevitable conclusion. "But you _aren't_ different, are you? Perhaps you're the same as you always were, only now it shows?"

"Perhaps," Charles rumbled, as he took Elsie's hand in his and gazed into her deep, blue eyes. "Perhaps what you're seeing is who we truly are – how we were truly meant to be."

"Well," Beryl replied, suddenly feeling very out of place, "you can't be any clearer than that."

Her friends didn't seem as though they'd heard her at all. She exited the room quietly and closed the door tightly behind her.

 _Well, I'll be,_ she thought. _At last._

* * *

 **"We are more alike, my friends, than we are unalike." ~Maya Angelou**

 **Please drop me a note and let me know what you think! xx**


	27. Full Circle

**A/N: I have been waiting FOREVER to use this song in this story - since, oh, Chapter 4 or 5? My thanks to the fan who suggested it ages ago, and my apologies for not remembering who that was. The title is "I Choose You" - Sara Bareilles - and it's on my Chelsie Potpourri Spotify playlist (username ChelsieSouloftheAbbey).**

 **Love to brenna-louise who has lovingly read through this, helped with a poorly-worded item, and generally supported me throughout the second half of this entire story. xx**

 **CSotA**

 _ **There was a time when I would have believed them**_

 _ **If they told me you could not come true**_

 _ **Just love's illusion**_

 _ **But then you found me and everything changed**_

 _ **And I believe in something again**_

 _ **My whole heart**_

 _ **Will be yours forever**_

 _ **This is a beautiful start**_

 _ **To a lifelong love letter**_

 _ **Tell the world that we finally got it all right**_

 _ **I choose you ...**_

The clatter of the train on the tracks startled Charles awake, but he let his eyes remain closed. His ears picked up on the quiet words of his beloved and their daughter.

 _My daughter – OUR daughter,_ he thought with a swell in his chest. _At long last._ He'd waited almost half his life to think about her so openly and lovingly. The thought made the corner of his lip turn up slightly, but it went unnoticed by both women.

"… and you're _sure_ it'll be alright?" Daisy asked for the thousandth time. "It's only, I don't want to upset her …"

"You _won't,_ " Elsie replied firmly, patiently encouraging Daisy as she squeezed her hand. "I've written to let them know we're coming, and she'll have been prepared. They'll have explained it in the simplest way possible, but she will be delighted." Elsie paused, drawing a deep breath in order to master her emotions. "She always wondered, you know … what you'd look like, where you'd end up. Becky forgets many things, but this has always stayed with her. I am sure she cannot wait to see you, my dear."

Charles moved his foot ever so slightly so that it tapped Elsie's ankle, a small sign of encouragement and his message that, while he loved and supported her, he did not want to interrupt their conversation.

It had been three weeks since Elsie and Charles had finally sat down with Daisy, discussing the situation as a whole and attempting to find a way to reconstruct their professional relationship into something more indicative of a family. Daisy had been quite clear in what she wanted: an extended family, a chance to get to know Elsie and Charles as _people_ instead of just as the heads of staff at Downton. She wanted a chance to learn about their lives, about their childhoods and upbringing. She also wanted the same from Mrs. Patmore and Mr. Mason, to some extent, but admitted she already knew quite a bit more about them than she did about her birth parents. She didn't care what other people thought; she'd made it quite well known to her four "parents" that it was up to them what to tell and to whom. Eventually, Elsie and Charles suggested that they make no grand announcements; rather, if they were asked, they would simply answer with the truth. Everyone knew that when that truth was told for the first time, it would spread like wildfire through the Abbey; only then would they address the family and/or the staff as a whole.

And so those past three weeks had seen an increase in the amount of people in Elsie's sitting room at the end of every day. Daisy and Beryl would arrive to take part in a glass of port or a wee bit of sherry, often bringing along a small bite to eat (much to Charles's delight). They shared stories of their pasts, reminisced about favorite celebrations, holidays, and stories of times both funny and sad that they'd experienced together at Downton. They also discussed Daisy's dreams for the future, her determination to sit her exams next year and then see where that led her. She thought she'd like to remain at Downton and take over as cook when Beryl retired, and she'd made no decision about taking over the farm just yet. The three elders advised her to keep her focus on her studies for now, all three keenly aware that the future of Downton continuing as it always had was nowhere near set in stone. Through those evenings they'd built a comfort level with one another – both daughter with parents and parents among themselves – that none had realized they'd been craving until they had it handed to them.

And then, seven nights ago, Daisy had enquired about a shared day off. She wanted to meet her only other living, biological relative: her Aunt Becky.

Elsie was touched by the request, but also quite apprehensive, and she spent a good many hours pondering the best way to go about it. Finally, she just sent a letter to Becky's group home, explaining to them that Elsie would be bringing a young woman named Margaret to see Becky. She knew Becky would recognize the name, that while she might not remember all the details she would know that the only Margaret she'd ever met (aside from their Mam) was the wee bairn who'd been born in Becky's own bed, the bairn who'd gone on to live with the Macinroys many years ago. It wasn't much information but it would be enough to get them started, and then Elsie would hopefully be able to navigate their day from there.

The train slowed and Elsie reached across to nudge Charles "awake." He made a production of stirring and stretching, then looked over to see Elsie still clutching Daisy's hand. He swallowed the lump in his throat and gave them a smile, which both ladies returned in kind.

As they came to a full stop, Charles rose and offered his hand, first to Elsie and then to Daisy, helping them out of the seats before he reached over their heads to gather the basket that Daisy had packed. The plan was to take a picnic with Becky on the grounds of the home. With Elsie's help, Daisy had packed an assortment of luncheon foods and sweets that were Becky's favorites. Charles lifted the lid of the hamper to peek inside, earning him a swat from Elsie.

"What?" he asked, a look of innocence on his face.

"What, indeed? Don't you touch those biscuits, Charles Carson," Elsie admonished. "You'll have them all eaten before you even _meet_ Becky, and _then_ you'll have to listen to her complain all day that we forgot to bring any!"

"Oh, not to worry about that, Mrs. Hughes," Daisy said with a smile. She reached into her handbag and withdrew a small box. "I planned ahead for this."

Daisy handed the box to Charles, who opened it to find four generous wedges of his favorite shortbread. He laughed out loud, showing it to Elsie, and then reached over and placed a kiss to Daisy's head – something that startled them all but simultaneously seemed to be the most natural thing in the world.

"Thank you," he said simply. "You know me too well."

"Well, I am trying to," Daisy replied kindly, "and I am enjoying that quite a bit, truth be told."

"Well," Elsie added softly, "let's make our way to the house." She smiled as Daisy took her arm, and her spirits lifted even higher when she felt Charles put his hand at the small of her back. And so together, the family of three made their way to meet Aunt Becky.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"Mrs. Hughes, good afternoon," the matron at the desk said.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Arnold. It's so lovely to see you. Might I introduce you to Mr. Charles Carson and Mrs. Daisy Mason?"

"Lovely to meet you," Mrs. Arnold answered, shaking both their hands. "If you'll allow me to gather your coats I'll hang them in our office. Mrs. Hughes knows the routine; you can have a seat in the main hall and we'll have Becky join you as soon as she's ready." She waved a hand to the nearest doorway, and Elsie led them all through.

The building, while not seeming terribly large from the front, extended quite a bit back from where they'd entered. The hall was a long, brightly-lit room, its many windows allowing the sunlight to filter in and the view of the seaside to be appreciated by everyone. Comfortable chairs and settees had been placed all around, some around gaming tables that held playing cards or chess boards. Charles was mildly surprised at this, but promptly chided himself silently; Elsie had explained a to him a bit of how simple Becky was, of what he should expect, but he knew he would be remiss in not considering that the residents of the home were likely to have a wide variety of needs and abilities.

They chose a spot by the window, with the ladies sitting together on a settee and Charles taking the chair directly opposite. After about five minutes, the pounding of feet could be heard coming from the doorway.

"Essie!" Becky shouted, running full-force toward her sister. Elsie managed to stand and plant her feet firmly on the floor just in time to receive a very adult-sized hug from her squealing sister.

"Oh, my lass, how are you?" Elsie murmured, kissing Becky's forehead as she placed her hands on Becky's cheeks. "I've missed you so."

"I've missed _you,_ my Essie," Becky said gleefully, kissing Elsie repeatedly on the cheeks.

Charles and Daisy stood during this exchange, each marveling at the force that was Rebekah Hughes. She was Elsie's height, her long hair in a plait down her back, all grey despite her age. From her round face shone brilliantly blue eyes, wider than even Elsie's, and they danced with merriment. She was currently shaking her hands in excitement, an action that resonated with Charles as it was something he often did when agitated.

Becky allowed her gaze to fall on Charles, but she said nothing to him. She then approached Daisy, and held her hand out to Daisy's face, caressing it as she gasped softly.

"Da," she whispered. "Essie, she looks just like Da. Do you remember?"

"Yes, my darling, I do. And you are right – she looks remarkably like Da."

Daisy stood stock still, marveling at the woman stood before her. Her brain, in searching later on for a way to describe Becky to Mr. Mason, conjured up a combination of Mrs. Patmore and Miss Sybbie: kind and forthright, but with an innocent charm that was usually only found in children. Daisy thought her Aunt Becky was the sweetest woman she'd ever met, and loved her instantly.

"I'm your Auntie," Becky giggled. "Isn't that funny? I've only met you once, a long time ago, when you were just a wee bairn."

"It is a pleasure to meet you again," Daisy said kindly, reaching up for Becky's hand and squeezing it. "I go by Daisy now, though you probably remember me as Margaret."

"Daisy," Becky repeated. "I like that - daisies are very pretty. Like you."

"Thank you very much," Daisy replied. "Essie tells me you like shortbread, is that right?" Becky nodded, smiling brightly. "Well, I've made you some, you know. Shall we sit outside and try it?" She looked to Elsie for confirmation, receiving only a nod in reply.

"Yes!" Becky shouted, squeezing Daisy's hand and pulling her toward the door. "Who's that man?" she asked loudly, earning a chuckle from Daisy.

"Well, you know Essie is my Mam, don't you?" Daisy asked. Becky nodded furiously, giggling still. "Well, that's … Charlie, and he's my Da."

"Oh," answered Becky, "alright then." She accepted that without not so much as a glance but, halfway to their picnic spot, she stopped short, nearly causing Daisy to fall as her arm was jerked back, her hand still clasped in Becky's.

"Wait," she said slowly. "Wait ... Essie isn't _married,_ silly! Charlie can't be your Da!"

Daisy looked back at her parents and saw the uncertainty and discomfort on their face. She made a split-second decision, and turned back to her aunt.

"May I call you Auntie?" she asked.

"Oh, yes!" Becky exclaimed, then saw Elsie's pointed glance, gently reminding her of her manners. "I mean, yes please."

Daisy smiled. "Well, Auntie, the way I understand it is this: Essie and Charlie love each other, and they have done so since they met a _very_ long time ago." She glanced at them, at how Charles had reached for Elsie's hand, and smiled. "And we care for each other so much, that we are a family. Do you understand?"

"Like Mam and Da?"

"Just like Mam and Da," Elsie replied softly, approaching Becky and giving her a kiss to her cheek. "Exactly."

Becky pondered this for a moment, and then her eyes grew wide. "Wait! That means Charlie is my _brother!"_ she squealed.

Charles laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that made Becky giggle. "Yes, I suppose that I am." He opened his arms just in time to make room for Becky's enthusiastic hug, and returned it in kind. "And I have _always_ wanted a sister, Becky."

"Good!" she answered. "Now where is lunch?"

Laughing together, the foursome made their way to Becky's favorite picnic spot, spreading a blanket onto which Daisy unpacked their meal. Elsie and Becky sat closely together, Becky unwilling to leave her sister's side as they saw so little of one another, leaving the other end of the blanket for Charles and Daisy. They spent quite a while in silence, Becky concentrating on eating politely in front of her guests, earning her a smile and encouraging nod from Elsie. Daisy gazed out at the water, marveling at how much her life had changed in just a few short months.

"I know it's not right for me to say this," she said, too quietly for Becky to hear, "but in a way I'm glad that that train went off the tracks."

Charles looked up at her, meeting her gaze. "As am I," he replied. "It gave me back my life."

"Me, too," Daisy answered, tentatively reaching out for his hand. He hesitated only a moment before clasping hers, taking a moment to realize how right he felt sitting there with his family.

The meal finished, Elsie packed up their belongings and replaced everything in the picnic hamper. As she did so, she began humming, something nonsensical to Charles's ears but a tune which Daisy and Becky picked up on instantly – a song that reverberated in each of them, a memory of days long since gone. As she hummed, Becky and Daisy added in the words:

 _I've found the wee brown otter's track,_

 _The otter's track, the otter's track_

 _I've found the wee brown otter's track_

 _But ne'er a trace o' my baby …_

Daisy and Becky headed off to gather some flowers for Becky's room, singing away. Charles turned to Elsie, and saw the tears streaming down her cheeks. "Elsie?" he asked gently.

She shook her head. "Full circle, Charlie," she said mysteriously. "My life has come full circle at last, and nothing could make me happier."

"Nothing?" he replied, an eyebrow raised. "Well, there go my plans."

A laugh erupted from her mouth, just before she stood on her tiptoes to plant a kiss firmly on his lips. "Well, perhaps one thing … but you've not properly _asked."_

"Do I need to?" he teased.

"Oh, Mr. Carson, I do believe so."

"I see." He moved closer to her, taking both of her hands in his own. "Well, then."

Daisy and Becky had turned to make their way back, Becky's hands full of wildflowers, but seeing what she _thought_ was happening, Daisy reached out a hand to stop her aunt's progress. "Shh, Auntie. Listen," she whispered.

Charles took a deep breath, and then uttered the words he'd waited years to speak aloud. "Elsie May Hughes, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife? Of making us a family in every sense of the word? I realize I ask very, _very_ belatedly, but I can assure you that it is my most powerful wish to have you by my side for all our remaining days on this earth."

Daisy and Becky watched in awe as Charles poured out his heart to Elsie, and only when they heard her tearful acceptance of his proposal did they approach the couple.

"Essie and Charlie are getting _married?!"_ Becky shouted.

"Yes, petal," Elsie laughed through her tears, "it appears that we are!" She extended her arms as both girls practically tackled her in an awkward, three-person hug.

"Good!" Becky stated. "Now you _will_ be just like Mam and Da, and we will have a proper family – won't we, Daisy?"

Daisy beamed at her Auntie and then at her parents. She knew a great deal about the road they'd taken to arrive at this day, and couldn't be happier for them – and, she wasn't ashamed to admit – for herself. For Daisy knew their happiness would lead to her own, and that her future now looked very, very bright, indeed.

"Congratulations," she whispered to them both. "I'll no longer be able to call you Mrs. Hughes," she said to Elsie. "Perhaps we can settle on something more … familiar?"

Elsie reached out and pulled Daisy into a proper hug. "Anything you wish, my darling girl. You have no idea how much I've dreamed for this day – for _all_ of the pieces of my life to be woven together at last."

"Oh, I think I do," Daisy answered tearfully. "I think I do."

 _ **Tell the world that we finally got it all right**_

 _ **I choose you**_

 _ **I will become yours and you will become mine**_

 _ **I choose you**_

 _ **I choose ... you.**_

 **Please consider leaving me a little review to let me know what you think. Special shout-out to the guest reviewers, too, to whom I cannot reply in person. :)**


	28. Da, Dat, Da-Da

**A/N: A special nod of thanks to JustSterling, who allowed me to steal some of her Thomas Barrow back story from "Semantic Satiation" and use it in this story. If you've never read that fic, LOOK IT UP. It's amazingly funny, touching, and mysterious.**

 **Thank you to brenna-louise for her lightning-fast read through and continued support as I near the end of this little AU. xx**

 **"You Are the Best Part of Me" - Neil Diamond - On my Spotify. Username: ChelsieSouloftheAbbey, Playlist: Chelsie Potpourri (you know how I roll by now, surely?)**

* * *

 _ **There was a time I wanted out on my own**_

 _ **I even thought that I'd be ok alone**_

 _ **But oh, baby**_

 _ **I know, baby**_

 _ **That I'd be walkin'**_

 _ **Away from the best part of me.**_

 _ **You, baby, you're the best part of me**_

 _ **The best that I am**_

 _ **Or ever will be**_

 _ **You're the part that allows me**_

 _ **To open my heart**_

 _ **And let love inside**_

 _ **I want you to know**_

 _ **What I've always known**_

 _ **You're the best part of me.**_

The day of his wedding dawned bright and cold, but Charles Carson felt only a burning fire coming from within. He felt totally unable to contain the whole of his emotions, was trying valiantly to convince them to remain inside, and feeling as though he would only fail in the attempt.

The knock on his pantry door startled him, and he stopped his pacing to call out a tremulous "Come in."

He'd expected her to show up for weeks and had almost given up on her. Throughout everything that had happened with Elsie and Daisy she'd been keeping her distance from him, and he wasn't altogether sure he was in her favor anymore.

As she entered the room he stood tall, removed a miniscule piece of lint from his coat, and tugged gently on the fabric. Her brightly-shining smile encouraged him to speak, and he uttered the first words that passed through his mind.

"Will I do, Milady?" he asked, a twinkle in his eye, the ghost of the memory still haunting his heart, even after all this time.

"Oh, yes, Carson," Lady Mary replied. "You'll do just fine." She noticed the flowers on the table, and reached for one. "May I?" she asked, holding up his boutonniere.

"Please," he replied, a smile on his face.

"I wanted to apologize," she said quietly, centering the flowers on his lapel, "for any trouble I've caused you. I know I've kept my distance since it all fell about, and I regret that now. I've squandered my last chances to steal away to your pantry in the late hours of the night, I feel."

"There's no need to feel badly, Milady. You tried to be my champion, tried to do things as you thought I would want them. You seemed to think I was deserving of something grand, and I can assure you that I took it as the highest compliment. I _am_ grateful, Milady, for all your efforts, but …" His voice trailed off, unsure of how to say what he needed to say without hurting this young woman for whom he had such great affection and admiration.

" … but the Carson I was championing doesn't exist anymore, not really, does he?"

She finished pinning the rose and heather, then backed away from him slightly and cast her eyes downward. Charles reached for her hand and gave it a brief squeeze, and waited until she met his gaze again.

"I am still here, Milady, and will always be _your_ champion. But I have other priorities now, a proper family of my own, and so that's the way it needs to be."

"Yes," she said with as sad chuckle, "your _actual_ daughter. I wondered … well, it doesn't matter now. Daisy seems quite the bright young thing, and I am happy for you and for Mrs. Hughes - truly."

Charles smiled and tilted his head in acceptance of her sentiment. "Thank you, Milady."

"I should be going. The car will be ready in a few minutes, so no dawdling," Lady Mary said, a note of sadness still in her voice despite her attempt at a cheerful smile. "I'll see you soon, Carson. I do wish you all the very best, you know," she added, placing a kiss to his cheek.

"Thank you for that, Milady. It means a lot to me."

He watched her back as she walked out of the room, and took a deep, cleansing breath. He reached into his pocket and checked that the ring was still there, safe and sound next to his heart.

He wasn't sure he could get to the church fast enough - he couldn't wait to finally, _finally,_ make Elsie Hughes his wife.

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

Despite the amount of people seated in the pews, the slight tremor in her voice, and the breathlessness that she felt, Elsie's voice carried most of her vows quite clearly to everyone's ears. Charles was lost in her gaze, the words echoing in his mind despite his inability to truly focus on them. He found himself so lost in the power of the moment and in the beauty of the woman before him that anything else simply faded away to the background. _Details,_ he thought. _Just details._

"… for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, until death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance, ..." Her voice trailed off at the end as she struggled to maintain her composure, and she squeezed his hand encouragingly. _Your turn,_ her smile said.

His deep baritone was muted today, hushed, as though he were trying to say his vows only to his beloved and not to the congregation at large. Elsie didn't take her eyes off of his face the entire time, but Daisy's sniffle registered in her mind, and the knowledge that Daisy was there as their _daughter_ and not merely as their guest was comforting to her. The fact that Becky was also in attendance, seated silently beside Daisy, was the final piece in this most perfect puzzle. Finally, as Elsie felt the ring slide over her finger – the metal warm from being held in her husband's pocket and then in his hand – the overwhelming feeling she'd had since setting foot down the aisle disappeared, and a veil of peace descended upon her.

Vows completed, the newly-wed Mr. and Mrs. Charles Carson turned to face their guests. Through teary eyes they managed to smile – him at the Crawley family and guests, her at their friends, their own family, and their colleagues – and they made their way down the aisle to the lilting sounds coming from the piper who was standing just outside the chapel doors.

Their kiss was sweet and quite proper, yet enthusiastic, full of the promise of loving days and nights to come. As they made their way down the church steps, Elsie reached her hand out for Daisy, who took it and pulled her Mam into a tight embrace. Charles looked on with unbridled joy before finding Beryl and Bill in the crowd. _The rounding out of our family,_ he thought. Bill nodded in greeting, but it was Beryl's face that Charles focused on. Full of love for them all and pride in their girl, she gave her oldest friend the most brilliant of smiles, which he returned in kind before offering his elbow to his wife. With Becky and Daisy in tow, and Beryl and Bill following immediately behind, they led the procession to the schoolhouse.

No other words were needed; the six of them were a family unto themselves, each with a role that complemented and supported the others, each sharing a love that shone brilliantly to all those with eyes to see it.

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

"Mr. Carson?" Thomas Barrow approached the butler, his hand extended. "My most sincere congratulations, Sir."

Charles raised his eyebrows, but smiled at his under butler as he grasped his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Barrow. I must say, I actually believe your sincerity." Thomas nodded, a silent reply that could have meant anything.

Charles licked his lips, a bit unsure of how to phrase the rest of what he wanted to say. "Mr. Barrow, please, I wish to thank you for your discreet handling of our … situation with Daisy. I suspect that for some time that you saw something amiss, and yet you said nothing - neither to myself, nor to Daisy, nor even the family."

Thomas smirked, but nodded respectfully at his superior. "Not everything needs to be made a public scandal, Mr. Carson. Even I will admit that there are … exceptions."

"Yes, but I know you harbor no good will toward myself, so …" And then the penny dropped. "Of course. You did so out of respect for Mrs. Carson."

Thomas turned his gaze out toward the dance floor and saw the object of the butler's affection make her way toward the punch table.

"Many years ago, Mr. Carson, I came to Downton a broken young man. I did not come willingly, but eventually I saw my arrival here as a way to escape the rough hand that life had dealt me. While I admit that, in many ways, I've done a poor job of climbing above my past, your wife has never held any of it against me. Not the things that matter, anyhow." He looked back at Charles and saw the look of confusion on his face. "She's never told you my story, has she?" he asked quietly.

"No, she has not," Charles answered. "And I would never have asked her to even if I'd known she _could."_

Thomas smiled sadly. "Your wife saved my life the day I first showed up at the Abbey, Mr. Carson. I'm not sure if anyone has been as kind to me in my life as she has … not since my own mother was alive, anyhow. It would have been a poor way to repay her for it if I'd turned you all in."

"I see," Charles answered softly, looking over to where his wife stood. He caught her eye and smiled, and then noticed her nod slightly toward Lord and Lady Grantham. She had already done so at the church, but he knew she wanted him to thank them personally. _As if I would forget,_ he thought with an inward smirk.

"You know, Mr. Barrow, I've learned quite a lot his past year about people. Sometimes, who we truly are never shows until we're put to a most difficult decision." He looked the younger man in the eyes. "And we all have something to learn about one another sometimes, don't we?"

Thomas nodded in agreement, finding nothing he could say that would possibly match what was in his heart. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but not unwelcome. It spoke of home, of respect … and, in a way, of family.

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

The atmosphere in the schoolhouse was lively and bright, everything that Elsie had wanted it to be. She needed a break from the dancing and found a quiet spot off to the side of the room, her eyes finding Charles and seeing him chatting with, of all people, Mr. Barrow. She caught her husband's eye, smiled, and nodded imperceptibly (to anyone but _him_ ) toward the Crawleys, making sure he remembered to thank them for all they'd done to support the wedding and reception.

"Mrs. Carson?"

Elsie turned to see Isobel Crawley standing before her. "Mrs. Crawley, hello." She smiled warmly, appreciating the mutual regard in which they had always held one another.

"I wish to congratulate you once again, Mrs. Carson. You are positively beaming with delight, and it suits you very well. What a lovely affair," she said, looking out over the crowd.

"Thank you very much. I am so glad that everyone was able to attend, and they do seem to be having a nice time."

They spent a few minutes looking out at the guests, a comfortable silence between the two women. Elsie was grateful for a moment to catch her breath, knowing that most of the guests would keep their distance for a few minutes if they saw her chatting with Mrs. Crawley.

Eventually, Isobel reached into her bag and pulled out an envelope, which she handed to Elsie. "I received this in the mail last week, enclosed in his regular correspondence to me. I thought it a bit odd, but was asked to pass it along to you. I can only assume that, for whatever reason, he didn't wish to send it through Mary."

Elsie's brow furrowed as she reached for the envelope, which she tore open in order to extract the note from within. As she did so, she sensed her husband's approach and felt his hand brush her shoulder.

"Mrs. Crawley," he said, nodding to her in acknowledgement.

"I just wanted to give you both my best wishes for a lifetime of happiness," Isobel said, "although it appears you've been on the right path for a while." And, with that, she squeezed Elsie's arm briefly and made her way over toward the family.

"Elsie? What is it?" Charles asked, seeing the look that passed over his wife's face. "Are you alright?"

"Never better," she smiled tearfully, holding the note up to him. "Read this."

Charles took the note from her and held it out to see the handwriting:

 _Dear Mr. and Mrs. Carson,_

 _My best wishes and heartiest congratulations on this, your blessed wedding day. I am sorry to miss the event, but promise to deliver my congratulations in person when I return for the Christmas season. But for now, if you'll allow me, I wish to share some personal feelings of mine with you, for the joining of two souls such as yours - of two people who have spent a lifetime caring for others in so very many capacities - touches my heart._

 _I'm sure I've never said, and I doubt she did either, but Sybil always used to try to convince me that there was something a bit, well, more familiar than usual between the two of you. I confess I never saw it until she pointed it out but, as you well know, she could be particularly convincing when she wanted to be! Well, I have seen it ever since. You look upon one another with the utmost respect and admiration, and I feel blessed to have witnessed that during my time at Downton, and fortunate to have had the chance to know each of you in some small way. I've learned so much from both of you, much more than you could possibly imagine._

 _A true marriage between two people who love one another powerfully is a gift for which one can never be sufficiently grateful. Please accept my blessing for many wonderful, happy, healthy years ahead._

 _With fondness and admiration (and, as requested, a kiss from Sybbie),_

 _Tom Branson_

Charles reached over and wiped the tear from the corner of his wife's eye as he murmured in her ear.

"I _do_ love you powerfully, Mrs. Carson."

She reached up and wrapped her fingers behind his neck, pulling him down for a rather long, passionate kiss in front of all and sundry. She wondered fleetingly if she'd regret that, but the thought flew out of her mind as soon as his lips parted over hers.

Breaking away amidst the applause and a couple of wolf whistles (from Beryl and Thomas Barrow, in that order), she smiled at him lovingly.

"And I you, Mr. Carson. And I think it's time for us to leave this party behind, don't you?"

"I thought you'd never ask, my dear," he said with a wink.

She didn't admonish him for it at all.

* * *

 _Maybe the journey isn't so much about_ _ **becoming**_ _anything._

 _Maybe it's about_ _ **unbecoming**_ _everything that isn't really you_

 _so you can be who you were meant to be in the first place._

* * *

 **So ... the Epilogue will make an even 30 chapters. Whatever shall we do with Chapter 29? Do drop me a little note if you're in for two more chapters - you know I love to hear your thoughts. They really have kept this story going and have helped it blossom into something SO MUCH MORE than I'd ever planned.**


	29. New Beginnings

**A/N: Well, my friends, here we are: Chapter 29. There will be a Chapter 30, serving as an Epilogue, and then our journey in this AU will be done.** **This story has always been about Charles and his journey to rediscover his true self and, by association, it's been Elsie and Daisy's journey, too. But this chapter is pretty much all Chelsie.**

 ****It ends up on the far end of the "T" range or perhaps venturing into "M" - you've been warned.** (Shout-out to the true "M" writers - I couldn't do it, I don't think ... I blushed too much with this one.)**

 **My thanks go out to brenna-louise who has faithfully proofread this chapter among many others, and a special thanks to all of my reviewers. I am humbled by your love and support, and by the fabulous conversations I've had that started because of comments or questions about this story.**

 **The song choice for this chapter is "And I Love You So," as sung by Don McLean, and it's on my Spotify (along with the rest of the songs for this and other fics) on my Chelsie Potpourri song list.**

 **xx - Chelsie on!**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 _ **And I love you so**_

 _ **People ask me how**_

 _ **How I've lived till now**_

 _ **I tell them "I don't know."**_

 _ **I guess they understand**_

 _ **How lonely life has been,**_

 _ **But life began again**_

 _ **The day you took my hand.**_

 _ **And yes I know how lonely life can be**_

 _ **The shadows follow me**_

 _ **And the night won't set me free.**_

 _ **But I don't let the evening bring me down**_

 _ **Now that you're around me.**_

Charles and Elsie were silent on the short ride to their new cottage. Neither could quite believe that they now owned _another_ property; it was certainly an idea that would take some getting used to.

Cora had been particularly insistent when speaking to Robert that since neither the butler nor the housekeeper wished to retire just yet, it made more sense to have them living in a cottage on the estate once they returned from their honeymoon. She'd foreseen that they'd be reluctant to reside in what would normally be a guest room, and the feasibility of having a shared room in the servants' quarters was simply non-existent.

And so it had been that, last month, Cora and Robert Crawley had taken a long, meandering walk through all the tenant properties on their estate. They had selected the best of the lot for their treasured heads of staff, and Robert had seen that the cosmetic and minor structural updates that had been needed were completed swiftly. Cora had then visited the cottage with Miss Baxter, both women quite content to lie to the housekeeper about having to visit Ripon so as not to draw any suspicion to their _real_ plans. They had made a list of anything and everything that Miss Baxter saw as necessary to making the cottage comfortable for the Carsons. Linens, towels, and window dressings had been purchased (Cora having insisted that those all be new) and furniture that the family no longer needed was moved from storage to the cottage when the Carsons had taken a full day off last week to meet with Reverend Travis in order to finalize the wedding service.

Robert and Cora had pulled Charles and Elsie aside during the wedding reception to tell them the news. 'You'll both want privacy, I am sure,' had been Cora's exact words to Elsie. Elsie had simply nodded at first, but managed to utter a quiet 'Yes, Milady,' hoping beyond hope that his Lordship and her Ladyship would ignore the flush that had come across her face. She'd never been so grateful for Lady Grantham's tact and understanding as she was at that very moment.

"I know you'd been planning to spend the evening at the Grantham Arms prior to heading to Scarborough in the morning, Carson, but my wife insists that this will be a welcome alternative." Robert had smiled kindly at Elsie and reached into his pocket to withdraw a set of keys, which he'd handed over to Charles. "The chauffeur will drive you to your new cottage when you're both ready to leave.

"This comes with all of our thanks for the many years you've _both_ served our family, and in the hopes that many more still lie ahead," Robert said to the couple. "And, before either of you attempt to refuse, the gift is non-negotiable," he added with a smile. Robert had then reached out to shake the hand of the man who'd loved his family for so very many years, the man who had been a second father to his children, and who now had a proper family with whom to spend his days. "But regardless of _when_ you should choose to retire, the cottage is yours for the rest of your lives."

He'd paused then to collect his thoughts. "Carson, it wasn't long ago that we thought we might lose you forever. I can't possibly express how happy I am to have been able to share in this glorious day with you both."

"Thank you, Milord," Charles had replied, truly touched at the level of emotion contained within the statement.

"Anna and Mr. Molesley will be packing all of your personal belongings from your staff rooms while you're away on honeymoon," Cora said to Elsie. "Unless you have any specific instructions, I'll leave them to arrange it all for you so that you've nothing to worry about upon your return. And some things have been brought down to get you through tonight, of course."

To Elsie's great surprise, Cora reached for her hands and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "We _are_ so very happy for you both – and Daisy, too."

"Thank you, Milady," Elsie murmured.

Elsie was still shocked at how easily the Crawleys had handled the news about Daisy. She and Charles had come clean about the whole situation a week ago, not wanting to begin the next stage of their lives under a shadow of suspicion. Rather than expressing horror or even disgust at their situation, the Crawleys had expressed the kindest understanding and support. Elsie knew very well that both she and Charles – and Daisy, for that matter – could have been let go with no reference, out on the street for having kept so scurrilous a secret from their employers. Elsie thanked God every day that they were fortunate to work for a family that truly cared for its staff; Elsie had certainly been convinced of their esteem during her cancer scare, but she had been moved by it again when Charles was in hospital. Their care illustrated one of the only arguments with Charles that Elsie ever lost. _Yes,_ she thought, _in many ways, they ARE our family._

As the car pulled up to the cottage, Elsie allowed a gasp to pass over her lips. She looked at Charles with widened eyes, her gaze mirroring his own astonishment. He extended his hand and helped her from the car, then retrieved their valises from the chauffeur. Not knowing until that moment precisely _which_ cottage they'd been given, they both took a few moments to absorb their surroundings, barely noticing as the car made its way back down the winding road.

The cottage sat a bit back from the road, with a lovely stone path leading to the front door. Someone ( _likely Daisy, or perhaps even Anna,_ Elsie mused) had placed a lovely wreath of heather on the door, which immediately marked the cottage as theirs and added a bit of warmth to its character. There was a small patch of garden in front, and a lovely view from the back of the expansive fields below. There was not a neighboring cottage in sight, their privacy protected by trees on all sides.

It was perfect. It was lovely, not too large, up-to-date, and secluded.

 _Secluded,_ Charles thought. _We're alone. We are finally alone._

He reached over and took Elsie's hand, bringing her back from her wanderings as he led her to the front step.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Carson," he whispered, and smiled as she stood on her tiptoes for a loving kiss.

"Welcome home, Mr. Carson," she answered with a sigh. "Shall we?"

"I think so."

He opened the door and allowed Elsie to pass through, then followed with their suitcases, which he set down by the door. A fire was already lit in the sitting room and Elsie noticed that the stove in the kitchen was hot, a kettle already on in case they wished to have tea, and a hamper taking pride of place in the center of the dining table.

"Daisy," she said with a smile, looking at her husband. "So this is where they scurried off to."

"Ah yes, I wondered why Andrew had to accompany her," Charles said, nodding.

Elsie laughed at her darling husband, the sound music to his ears even though he was puzzled by it. "Oh, love, surely you don't think that Daisy actually _needed help_ carrying this? I think she just wanted his company."

"Hmmm," came his reply. "Yes, well, we can discuss that another time."

 _Typical Da,_ Elsie thought. She smiled brilliantly at him as he helped her remove her coat, hanging it with his on the coat rack by the door.

As she moved about the cottage, Elsie couldn't help but wonder how it had all been put together right under their noses. "You know," she called out to Charles from the kitchen, "it's rather impressive that _no one_ allowed anything about this to slip. Not much gets by you or I at that house. They must have worked _very_ hard to take care of all of this, and everyone must have known. I believe I have a new appreciation for Lady Grantham's plotting skills."

"I agree," Charles answered, joining her by the stove. He placed a kiss to her temple as he reached around her to grab two teacups. "Tea, or food?" he asked her.

"Tea. You can tackle the hamper and make up some plates," she answered, taking the cups from his hand and reaching for the water.

"Your wish is my command," he answered, giving her a small bow.

"Oh, look who's cheeky now that he's _married!"_ she retorted, giggling. She heard him stop moving and turned to look at him. "What is it?"

"You're giggling … I've never heard you do that before."

"I suppose I haven't had need to do so until now," she replied, moving over to kiss his cheek. "I presume you don't _mind?"_

"I think it's the loveliest sound I've heard in years," he said honestly.

"Flatterer," she murmured, blushing. "Now, go and make those plates. I was barely able to eat a thing at the schoolhouse and I'm absolutely _famished._ I feel as though I am going to need some sustenance tonight," she added with a blush, reaching out to push gently on his chest and shoo him over toward the table.

They sat and shared a comfortable meal, Charles commenting on how they owed Daisy and Beryl a special thanks for arranging it all. Their conversation turned to small things, both somehow feeling the unspoken need to rid their minds of trivialities so that they would be better able to focus solely on one another for the next several days.

Once they'd finished, Charles rose and gathered the dishes. "I think that _you,_ Mrs. Carson, should remove those shoes and go put your feet up while I take care of these."

"As long as you promise to join me once you open that bottle of wine I spied in the basket," she said. "I wouldn't want to be on my own for very long …"

"My lovely, lovely wife," he murmured, putting his free arm around her, "I intend be by your side for _every_ _moment_ of the next week … that is, if you have no objection? As I've said before, I don't think I can bear to leave you anymore."

The sound of his voice ignited a fire deep within her, something that both calmed and invigorated her at the same time. "Good," she replied quietly.

His chuckle reverberated through her body as he gave her one last squeeze before relinquishing his hold on her. "Indeed," he said with a wink.

Elsie headed into the parlour, checking to see that the fire was still going strong before plopping down on the rather large settee. She tucked her legs underneath her, happy that she felt instantly at home in their new cottage.

She turned upon hearing Charles make his way toward her, and gasped when she saw what he carried into the parlour. "The Margaux! How appropriate. But how did they ever _know_?"

"I've no idea," he marveled. "I mentioned once to his Lordship how much we enjoyed it - perhaps they thought to ask him?"

Elsie slid over to make room for Charles to join her. He removed his own shoes and tucked them under the table, then handed a glass to her as he sat by her side.

"A toast, to my darling wife," he said, "who has spent the last many years patiently guiding me toward this day. I never thought it could happen, and I will be grateful all the days of my life." He clinked his glass to hers, then leaned forward to place a gentle kiss to her lips. "I do not deserve you."

"Oh, Charles, thank you for that. But I feel that you have guided me as well, you know. So here's to you," she said, raising her glass once again, "for bumping into me all those years ago in London, for seeing straight into my soul with a single gaze of those lovely, dark eyes … and for giving me everything that I never knew I needed." She touched his glass with her own and added, "It _was_ the best summer of my life, you know, and I will always be grateful for it … and for _you,_ my lovely husband. We have come full circle, indeed."

They sipped their wine slowly as they cuddled into one another on the settee. For a long while they said nothing at all, as was so often their way, communicating with a lean of her head on his shoulder, a kiss of his lips to her hair, a brush of her hand on his leg, a sigh full of love and promise and caring.

When the fire died down, Charles reached over and retrieved Elsie's glass, then allowed her to stand and stretch before she reached down and offered him a hand up.

"We're a right old pair," she said with a chuckle as his knees cracked.

"But a pair at last," he replied, eyebrows raised and eyes full of meaning. "As all of our family and friends bore witness to today."

Elsie nodded and followed him to the kitchen, standing in the doorway and watching him as he rinsed the glasses and put them on the rack to dry. "I rather like this domestic side of you, Charlie," she told him, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Shall I see more of this from my husband in the future?"

"You, my dear," he replied, moving over to where she stood and tilting her chin up for a kiss, "shall see as much from me as you would like to."

Elsie flushed and her eyes widened, her heart suddenly beating furiously in her chest. "Is that so?" she whispered, and eyebrow raised.

"Indeed." He reached down and took her hands in his. "I've waited so very long for this day, love. Even if I tried to deny it at times, my heart has _always_ belonged to you. I need you to believe that."

"I do," she breathed, and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Charlie? I think it's time to see what the bedroom looks like, don't you?"

His hum of an answer reverberated throughout her chest as his lips met the soft skin of her neck. "I do," he repeated, taking her hand and leading her down the corridor, stopping every few steps for a kiss.

The bedroom was bathed in the soft glow of the fire, and Charles took a moment to add wood to it until it was roaring. There was a faint chill in the room, but neither really noticed it … nor did they take in the lovely counterpane, the softness of the curtains, or the muted colors that decorated the walls. Their attentions were focused on other details: the softness of her dress, the multitude of buttons down its back that he was swiftly undoing, the hidden skill of the former valet coming to the forefront once again; the whiteness of his shirt, a stark contrast to the heightened color in his face as he removed his jacket and waistcoat; the sparkle of the cufflinks he'd chosen for the day, which she was so carefully attempting to remove with trembling fingers, glinting in the soft glow of the fire.

"Elsie?" he questioned, putting his hand over hers to stop their tremor. "Are you sure?"

She nodded. "I am," she told him, "it's just … overwhelming. I feel as though I've never done this, which is utterly ridiculous. But, Charles … I'm no longer that young woman ..." she trailed off.

He reached his hand up and caressed her cheek, tilting her head back until she was looking him directly in the eyes. "But _nothing_ ," he said. "We are _both_ older, hardly in the prime of our youth, as I've considered many times over the past several months. But I can state unequivocally that I love you more now than I did even _then,_ and I'd have sworn up until recently that such a thing could not be possible."

She took a deep, cleansing breath, effectively ridding herself of the last of her insecurities. God help her, she'd been so focused on the changes to her own physical appearance over the years that she'd completely forgotten that _he_ might have insecurities as well. But he didn't appear to have them at all _now_ , so complete was his love and desire. One last look into his impossibly dark eyes steeled her confidence, and her fingers resumed their removal of the cufflinks, with no trembling in sight. She walked around him and placed them on the dresser.

Charles was completely overcome by the power of his emotions, and gave Elsie a questioning glance as he reached for the now-unbuttoned dress. She nodded and smiled encouragingly, and he gently drew the fabric down her arms, dropping light kisses to her newly-exposed shoulders and collarbone, but not allowing his eyes to linger too long on any one spot … for now.

Elsie reached for the bedpost to steady herself as she stepped out of the dress, its fabric having pooled around her ankles. She felt a renewed surge of love as she watched her husband carefully hang it in the wardrobe and place his jacket and waistcoat beside it, but her breath was taken away by the power behind his gaze when he turned from the wardrobe to face her once again.

Charles wasn't sure how, but in all the time he'd spent remembering that long-ago day in London, the afternoon which had been so full of passion and love among the wildflowers of the hidden copse, he'd not once thought of how tonight, for the first time, he'd be laying eyes on his _completely_ unclothed wife. His eyes couldn't help but linger on the thin material of her shift, which let through a hint of the color of her thighs; her corset was mesmerizing, the way it encased her body in a way that he'd only been able to imagine in his dreams. He found himself swallowing repeatedly in an attempt to pull his brain back to reality, and he was failing miserably.

Elsie saw his hesitation and it steeled her own resolve. She moved her hands to the busk of the corset and compressed the hook-and-eye closure, allowing the vile garment to fall to the floor, leaving it where it landed as she walked the few steps needed to reach her husband. As he stood stock still, the shock of seeing her in such a glorious state of undress still processing its way through his brain, she reached up and unbuttoned his shirt, refusing to look into his eyes lest she lose all control of herself. She slipped her hands under the fabric and pushed it off of him, her cool fingers shocked by the heat of his body. She moved to the wardrobe to add the shirt to the rest of their things, then returned to his side.

"I believe you have the advantage, Mr. Carson," she muttered, nodding to indicate his vest and trousers. "You still have much more clothing on than I."

He licked his lips and swallowed, then bent and placed several chaste kisses to her lips, trying to control his desire by drawing back every time she tried to deepen them. He chuckled at her newfound forthrightness. "Pushy, aren't we, Mrs. Carson? he teased, a twinkle in his ever-darkening eyes.

"Perhaps," she whispered, "but, to be fair, I feel as though I've been pushing you for years."

He laughed at that, and then bent and scooped her body up in his arms and deposited her gently on the bed. "Well, I suppose I must agree with you there. My mistake, evidently."

She scooted to the edge of the bed and pulled him closer by the waistband of his trousers, no longer ashamed or nervous or any of those other ridiculous things she'd been tucking away for so long. As her fingers made swift work of his belt, he caressed her back and shoulders with his fingertips. Trousers were done away with, followed in short order by his vest. He then knelt before her, and ever so slowly pulled her stockings down and off of her legs, brushing his lips over her pale skin. Once they'd been removed he folded them and laid them gently on the floor.

Elsie maneuvered her way back toward the pillows, pulling the bedclothes down as she did so, and made herself comfortable before lifting the sheets and indicating with a nod and a smile that he should join her.

Charles climbed in and sat beside her, then ghosted his hands up and down her arms, allowing himself time to be steadied by her presence. She reached up to pull him down beside her, and propped herself up on one elbow. Resting her head on her hand she looked over at him, reaching out to caress the side of his face with her hand before moving closer for a kiss.

Despite all the tension and emotion of the day, all of the passion that had been steadily building between them, the kiss started out soft and sweet, gentle and loving; however, before long, each realized that they had neither the desire nor the inclination to put things off any longer. As his tongue brushed across her lips she parted them willingly, allowing herself a moment to focus on the taste of him, the warmth of his mouth, and the soft moans that were emanating from deep within him.

She ran her fingers through his hair and felt the heat of his hand as he ran it up and down her side, avoiding both the edge of her breast and the skin on her thigh in a way that nearly drove her mad. She broke away from his lips and pushed on his shoulder, taking him momentarily by surprise before he landed on his back.

"Elsie?" he enquired, concerned that he had done something wrong. "Are you alright?"

"No," she answered, sitting up. Before he could utter another word, she got on her knees and pulled her shift up and over her head, discarding it unceremoniously on the floor. She then leaned over her speechless husband, placing gentle, teasing kisses to his chest as she ran her fingers through the small patch of grey hair in the center of it. "Better now, I think," she said, shooting him a wink of her own.

His mouth open in astonishment, Charles just stared at his wife for a moment. When he was able to properly breathe again, he reached out and grabbed her waist, maneuvering them both until she was on her back and wondering how this bear of a man could suddenly show such gentle agility.

"My, my, Mr. Carson," she purred, "it seems that you've not totally succumbed to the trappings of age." She reached out and ran her fingernails up and down his sides, eliciting both a growl of desire and a shiver from him. To be honest, she wasn't sure which she enjoyed more.

"You're a witch, you do know that? Well, two can play at that game." He lowered his lips to her collarbone once again, ghosting a trail of kisses across the top of her chest and down her sides, across her stomach, and back up again - pointedly touching every inch of exposed skin except for her breasts.

"I see," she murmured. "Mmm … Charles? I think - oh ..."

Having decided that he'd teased enough, he had allowed his lips and tongue to dance across her right breast, then the left, paying particularly close attention to which areas seemed to elicit the most intense response in his wife. But when he noticed her small scar, he raised his gaze to her face once again, a slightly pained look in his eyes as his fingers trailed over the slight indent in her skin.

"Elsie," he whispered, suddenly overcome with powerful emotion. "Oh, my love …"

"Shhh, Charlie, don't," she replied softly, brushing her fingertips over his eyelashes to wipe away the trace of his tears. "It's alright. It was never anything serious."

"I know," he said, "but I was so afraid to lose you. It's when I finally admitted to myself that I was still truly in love with you, you know. I just … it makes me regret all the time I wasted," he admitted.

"Me, too," she said, "but we're _here_ now. Together … at last." She reached for his hand and placed it back on her breast, laying her own over it and squeezing his hand with hers. "I've waited a very, very long time for this night, love … please."

Charles smiled at his wife, his face so full of love in that moment that she thought she'd burn up on the spot from the brightness of it. "As you wish, my beloved," he murmured. "If you are sure."

"I have never _been_ so sure," she answered, a twinkle in her eye as she reached down to the waistband of his shorts and gave them a tug. He removed them swiftly and she allowed her gaze to travel downward, appreciating his desire for her.

"Nor have I," he replied, reaching up to untie the ribbon at her waist. He waited only a moment, then divested his wife of her last remaining article of clothing, tossing it somewhere in the general vicinity of the chair. He returned his hand to her leg, inching his fingers slowly up the inside of her thigh until he reached the heat at the very top, producing an unexpectedly loud cry from her mouth as she shifted her body slightly on the mattress, allowing him easier access to his destination.

Elsie closed her eyes, reaching out and unknowingly grasping the bedsheet, feeling her senses sharpen as her desire heightened with every movement of his fingers. He was bringing her to the precipice of some completely foreign place, and the sensation was both exhilarating and empowering. She allowed herself to get caught up in the waves of pleasure that were washing over her, wondering how on earth she'd gone her entire life without ever having experienced anything like this before.

As she caught her breath and came back to her present surroundings, Elsie opened her eyes and saw that she'd somehow pulled sections of the bedsheet up from the mattress, having wound the fabric around her hands at some unidentifiable time. She looked to the side and saw Charles - her loving, attentive, _wonderful_ man - looking down at her with something that bordered on awe, and realized that despite what she'd just experienced she felt horribly, desperately _incomplete._

"Charlie, _now,"_ she begged, moving her legs to make room for him. _"Please,_ love. I need to be closer to you."

"Closer than _this_?" he asked, brushing himself against her body. She nodded, reaching up to brush her fingertips across his lips.

"As close as two people can possibly be," she said.

And slowly, lovingly, and gently, her husband finally allowed himself to give in. He captured her lips with his own as they moved together as one, their minds instantly whisked away to a long-ago day in a sunlit field of London. Each felt once again the pull of the other's heart and soul and knew that, at last, nothing but death would ever separate them again.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Elsie opened her eyes slowly, searching for the source of the unknown sound that was assaulting her ears. As she came more clearly into a state of wakefulness she smiled broadly, her teeth gently tugging on her lip as she remembered how, precisely, she came to be laying in this oh-so-comfortable bed, completely unclothed, with the lovely feeling of having her snoring husband tucked in by her side, his arm slung across her body just below her breasts.

She reached her hand up to run her fingers slowly across his arm, feeling the firm muscle beneath his skin and marveling at how a man of size and strength could manage the gentle, delicate touches that she'd experienced just hours before.

She noticed the very moment when he woke, heard how his deep breaths shortened slightly and felt how his body immediately tensed as he realized where he was.

"Hello, Charlie," she whispered.

"Hello. What time is it?" he mumbled.

"Early - the sun's not even up yet."

"Hmm. How are you feeling?"

She sighed softly and reached her arm over to run her fingers through his lovely, silver locks, now mussed and curling this way and that.

"Loved," she said simply. "Completely, totally, and utterly loved." She reached down to kiss his brow, then shifted with him as he rolled her onto her side, tucked his body in behind her, and wrapped her securely in his embrace.

"You are," he whispered, placing one more kiss to her temple. "So very, very much." And, with that, they both drifted off into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

 _ **And you love me too,**_

 _ **Your thoughts are just for me.**_

 _ **You set my spirit free,**_

 _ **I'm happy that you do.**_

 _ **The book of life is brief**_

 _ **And once a page is read,**_

 _ **All but love is dead**_

 _ **That is my belief ...**_

* * *

 **Sigh. Epilogue coming shortly, I promise. Please leave me a note and let me know what you thought - I hope I did this chapter justice. It was rather nerve-wracking, I don't mind telling you! xx**


	30. Epilogue

**A/N: Here it is - the end of this strange journey for our Chelsie.**

 **This chapter is for kouw, who had a little request that I'd already kind of been considering, and who has a special place in her heart for Daisy. :)**

 **My thanks to brenna-louise for proofing this chapter and many before it, to silhouettedswallow whose help in the beginning chapters was equally invaluable, and to ladyaureliacrawley for answering my picky questions about Gaelic. Thanks to all the reviewers - guests and not - but a special thanks to the few people who reviewed EVERY SINGLE chapter. While that's most certainly not necessary, it was lovely following it along through your eyes. P** **lease know that EVERYONE'S comments made this fic what it ended up being; I had a MUCH more simplistic view of how to carry out a small idea from theladychelsieofdownton (a.k.a. yellowbrickroad): What if Daisy were the Carsons' daughter? See what you all do? I know we write these things individually, but we certainly don't do so in a vacuum. At least, I do not.**

 **True to my nature, there's a musical selection for this one. "Love Will Keep Us Alive," by The Eagles. I couldn't get it on Spotify, but you can find it on YouTube.**

 **xxx Much love to all,**

 **ChelsieSouloftheAbbey**

* * *

 _ **EPILOGUE**_

Shortly after their marriage, Charles and Elsie had realized that the idea of retirement was becoming more and more appealing. They treasured their time together, whether it was being spent in passionate embraces in the privacy of their home or in the sharing of comforting glasses of sherry in the public venue of her sitting room at the Abbey. The problem was, they felt that they simply didn't have enough time to enjoy all the _other_ things they wanted to do together.

They made it until Christmas of 1927 when, together, they handed in their notice. The Crawleys had been sad to see them go but not terribly surprised by the decision, and the years since had brought many invitations for visits to both the Abbey and to the Carsons' cottage, maintaining the special relationships that both Elsie and Charles had forged over the years with the Crawleys and their myriad staff.

Then, in April of 1928, Daisy and Andrew had finally married. Their long courtship was due in no small part to Daisy's reluctance to remarry, and the eventual wedding was the product of many conversations she'd had with Bill, who had steadily convinced her that William would want nothing more than to see her happy. Bill, who was still almost as much a father to her as Charles was, reminded her that she was an adult now, soon to be both in charge of her own farm _and_ head cook at Downton; she wasn't the young maid that Charles had carefully walked to William's bedside, and she should allow herself to be free to love again. His words had made her realize that she'd come such a long way from the terrified little girl who'd arrived at Downton those many years ago; and so it was that, surrounded by _all_ of her parents, as well as Andy's father and sister, the two had been the last couple to be wed by the Reverend Travis before the new vicar had taken over at the village church.

Then, much to Elsie's delight, Daisy and Andy's first child - a daughter, lovingly called Rebekah Elspeth Parker - had been born two years later. Elsie had mistakenly thought she'd found the pinnacle of her happiness when she and Charles had finally married, but absolutely _nothing_ could have prepared her for the joy she would feel on the day of Rebekah's birth, when she held her grandchild for the first time.

"Welcome, a leanaibh," she'd whispered, delicately kissing the newborn's furrowed brow. "You are the second Rebekah to be born to this family, you know. You'll be a credit to your aunt's memory."

Charles, who had been looking upon them with a swelling heart, approached his wife and wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling both Elsie and Rebekah into his loving grasp and breathing in the lavender scent of his wife's hair mixed with the sweetness that was distinctly Rebekah. Elsie leaned back into his chest, and they stood silently for as long as possible, just marveling at this blessed miracle of life. When Rebekah started to stir, the then newly-wed Mrs. Clarkson came and took her from Elsie, then handed her to Daisy to be nursed.

"She's lovely," Isobel murmured, squeezing Elsie's arm as she passed by. The two women shared a smile, both grateful for the friendship that had naturally formed between them in the time since Elsie's retirement. Beryl's own retirement, which would happen the year Rebekah turned one year old, would be the icing on the cake, the ability to enjoy more time with her dearest friends _and_ her family making Elsie's life truly complete.

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

 _ **1935**_

"Charlie, can you help me with this?" Elsie called from the back patio.

He made his way out, a tray of drinks in his still-steady hands. He located his wife in the corner of the patio and chuckled.

"Oh, don't tell me you can't _reach_ it, Elsie," he teased.

She blew a lock of silver hair off of her face, clearly frustrated at how long all the decorating was taking. "Don't make me drag out that rickety ladder, Charles Carson." She looked at him, lips pursed, but they both knew she couldn't manage to be cross with him for long.

He placed the tray on the long table and shuffled over to where his wife stood. "Don't you dare," he advised gently. "I won't have you falling again."

"That was _three years ago,_ Charlie - and don't you worry, I _did_ learn my lesson." Elsie had discovered the hard way that slippery shoes and a rickety ladder are a poor combination, and had fallen and fractured her arm two Christmases ago. It was the most difficult holiday they'd ever spent together, the blow only slightly softened by her husband's ever-attentive ministrations as Elsie sat frustrated for weeks, barely able to do a thing.

"'To love, honor, and _obey,_ '" he reminded her with a smile, tapping her nose with his fingertip and placing a delicate kiss to her cheek, "and I'm glad you've not forgotten. Now, let's see if I can tack that banner up before they all arrive."

Elsie moved away as her husband finished affixing the paper to the back fence of their patio.

" _Happy 5_ _th_ _Birthday_ ," she read delightfully. "Charlie, she's going to be so surprised!"

"I think so," he agreed. "You told Beryl and Bill noon, correct?" he asked, looking at his pocket watch and seeing that it was already 11:45. "So they should be here in, oh, about an hour," he joked.

"Oh, hush, you. They know how important it is to get the cake here on time. Rebekah is _their_ granddaughter, too, you know."

"I know, dear." He took one last look around the patio and nodded his approval. "Everything looks marvelous. Let's head in and sit for a while before everyone arrives." He placed his hand on her back as they walked back into the house, stopping once inside the kitchen to plant a sweet kiss to her lips, one which she returned in kind with a small hum.

"I love you, Els," he whispered, tucking the escaping lock of hair back into her loose plait. "I know I tell you all the time, and that I drive you to distraction, but I'm so grateful for you every day of my life."

"And I, you," she replied softly, reaching up to brush her fingers across his brow. She tried in vain to push back that pesky, errant curl of his, the one that never seemed to lay in the same place twice but that she loved regardless because it was so much a part of _Charlie._ In doing so, she brushed her fingertip over the faint scar at his temple, all that remained of that fateful train accident in London. "Thank you for agreeing to have the party here," she added after a moment. "I didn't really have the energy to stay over at the farm this week."

"Neither did I, to tell the truth. I'm so glad for this cottage - it's close enough to town and to our friends, with enough room for the children to visit us whenever they wish. I don't mind admitting it, I'm starting to feel my age," he said as they sat on the settee. He reached for her hand and laced their fingers together. "I can't believe I'll be eighty soon. _Eighty years old._ Neither of my parents made it past _fifty._ "

"I know," she replied. "My Mam lived to be sixty-six, but my Da died so young. I can't help but feel that they were all cheated in a way. I've enjoyed all of our years together, love, but none so much as the ones since we've been retired. The freedom to spend days with Rebekah, to travel when we want to, or to spend entire days lazing around in bed … there's nothing like it. We've worked hard, and it's like a wonderful reward. It makes me sad that they never got to enjoy that."

"I agree."

Moments later, the sound of crunching gravel came in through the front window. Charles stood slowly and offered his hand to his wife, helping her to rise from the settee. "They're here!" he said gleefully. Elsie just shook her head and smiled, his glee at every moment spent with his granddaughter absolutely infectious.

Just then, the front door to the cottage flew open. "Granny! Granddad! It's my birthday!" Rebekah squealed, hurtling herself at their legs as they each reached down to hug their granddaughter.

"Is it? I'd completely forgotten!" Elsie teased, winking at her darling.

"No, you didn't! I _know_ you remembered, Granny - you remember _everything!"_ Rebekah laughed. "But thank you," she added quickly, remembering her manners.

"Hello, Mam!" came Daisy's voice from the doorway. "It's lovely to see you," she said, kissing Elsie's cheek and then moving over to receive a hug from Charles. "Thank you both so much for having 'luncheon' here today," she said with a wink. "Shall I have Andy bring everything around back?"

"That would be perfect," Charles replied. "Although Beryl and Bill aren't here yet …"

Daisy laughed. "Oh, of course not! Did you expect that they would be? We've got, oh, at least ten more minutes before we see them." She turned to Andy as he came in the door, and explained where he should set the box they'd brought. It contained a few food items for the party, but also had hidden within it Rebekah's gift from her parents - a lovely set of coloring pastels and a brand-new sketchpad. She was already showing herself to be a very talented artist, something she had evidently inherited from her namesake, who had been very talented with pen and ink; many of Becky's pictures still graced the walls of the home in Lytham St Annes, where she'd spent the last five years of her life before succumbing to pneumonia. Daisy and Elsie had both been by her side when she passed, each holding one of her hands in their own.

Beryl and Bill did arrive at the cottage shortly thereafter, with Andy keeping his daughter entertained in the parlour as Beryl snuck the cake around to the patio. She lit the candles and called for everyone to join her. As soon as Rebekah burst through the back door, all of the adults sang to her. She was jumping and clapping gleefully, bringing a smile to everyone's face.

"A party! Thank you!" she squealed, staring at the cake. "Is it chocolate?"

"But of course, darling," Beryl told her, running her fingers through Rebekah's dark hair. "Your favorite."

Rebekah wrapped her arms securely around Beryl, who bent down to receive her granddaughter's enthusiastic kiss. "How about I ask Grandpapa and your Granddad to cut the cake while you're opening your gifts?" she suggested, shooting Bill and Charles a smile.

"Splendid idea, dear," Bill replied, as he and Charles retrieved the plates and knife from inside the kitchen.

"Yay!" Rebekah squealed.

Five minutes later, the girl was surrounded by a pile of colorful, torn paper and a variety of ribbons. In her lap and on the table next to her were the pastels and sketchpad, a new doll from Bill and Beryl, and a stuffed cat that Anna had sent. She and John were traveling in Ireland and had been unable to make it to the party, but Anna had sent the gift well in advance so that Beryl could bring it along.

"You seem to be missing a gift, petal," Elsie said softly. "How about you go into the yard and see what your Granddad and I have gotten for you?"

Rebekah's eyes widened as she nodded furiously. "Yes, please!" she said, jumping down from the bench and grabbing Charles by the hand. "Can we all go?"

"Of course," he answered.

The moment Rebekah turned the corner around the fence she stopped dead in her tracks.

"Is that … for me?" she whispered. Charles felt her positively quivering with excitement as she stood there, staring off at the tree and the lovely red swing that Andy had helped Charles string from the lowest branch only last week. Charles had picked it out in Ripon the previous month and had added two coats of shiny, red paint to it as soon as he'd gotten it home. He and Elsie had affixed streamers to it just that morning, and they were flapping in the gentle breeze. It looked _quite_ inviting to the five-year-old.

"Yes, darling, it is," he whispered back, ruffling her hair. "Happy Birthday from Granny and myself. Would you like to try it out?"

Rebekah nodded emphatically. "Yes, please! Can I go very high?"

"Well," Elsie told her, "if you hold on tightly to the ropes, you can go as high as Granddad wants to push you." She then bent down and whispered in her girl's ear, "I tried it out yesterday, and got _this_ high," and held her hand to demonstrate as Rebekah's eyes opened even wider.

"Alright!" she squealed, running toward the tree, the loving laughter of her family following her all the way.

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

"Thank you so much, Mam," Daisy said as she hugged Elsie goodbye. The two were standing inside the kitchen, putting away the last of the clean dishes. "This was such fun, and Rebekah will be asleep before the car even pulls away from your cottage!"

"It was our pleasure, my dear," Elsie said softly, kissing her daughter on the cheek. "I'm so glad that everyone could make it - well, except for Anna and John, of course." She then took hold of Daisy's arms and stepped back, looking her girl up and down with shrewd perception as the others were on the patio, finishing the sweeping and the packing up of Rebekah's gifts. "Daisy," she enquired gently, eyebrows raised, "when, precisely, are you planning to tell everyone?"

"Mam?" Daisy asked, blushing slightly and looking downward. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Daisy Parker, you are as horrible a liar as your Da, do you know that?" she chuckled. "You're carrying another bairn, I'm as sure of it as I am of my own name. How far along are you?"

Looking back up at her Mam's face, Daisy whispered, "Only about two months, I think. How did you know?"

"Oh, my darling," Elsie said, lovingly brushing her fingers over her daughter's shoulder, "I recognized the signs immediately. Have you been ill _every_ morning? You look as though you've lost half a stone since I last saw you, and you're positively exhausted."

"It's better now, but it was awful up until two days ago," Daisy admitted. "I think it may be a boy this time. Dr. Clarkson assures me that it's normal, but I was nothing like that with Rebekah." She paused, a distant smile coming to her face. "If it _is_ a boy, we'd like to call him William. Do you think Da would mind if we didn't choose Charles?"

"Oh, of course not," Elsie reassured her. "We'll love him - or her - regardless of what name you choose. You've not told the Masons yet, I presume?"

Daisy shook her head. "No, I wanted to tell _you_ first, but you beat me to it. I'll be seeing them again next week, and that's when we'll break the news. Please don't tell anyone but Da just yet, and we won't tell Rebekah for quite a while."

"I promise."

Elsie put her arm around her girl and walked her outside to join the others by the car.

"Everything alright with my lovely ladies?" Charles asked quietly.

"Just perfect," Elsie said, refusing to look him squarely in the face. As they kissed everyone good-bye and loaded them into the car, Charles had a niggling suspicion that he knew precisely what was happening. After knowing her half his life, he'd become rather adept at reading his wife's body language, and whatever Daisy had just confided in her had Elsie positively glowing with happiness.

As the car pulled away, he leaned over to Elsie and whispered, "Only one thing would have you looking this happy, Els. When is the baby due?"

She looked up at him fondly, smiling and shaking her head as her eyes filled with happy tears. "In December, I believe. Just in time for Christmas."

"Perfect." He held his hand out to Elsie, and she took it firmly in her own. "Are you hungry?"

"Not particularly," she said. "Exhausted, though. You?"

He just heaved a deep sigh and nodded his agreement. Since retiring, they'd given up on operating according to a schedule, and had instead taken to resting and eating whenever they felt the need. It was odd, perhaps, but it suited them; it was a freedom neither of them had allowed before, but one to which they'd taken an instant liking.

Silently, they made their way to the bedroom. Once inside, Charles opened the window a crack to let a bit of fresh air in. They undressed one another slowly, lovingly, as the late afternoon light streamed in through the window. They placed kisses to one another's temples, shoulders, arms, and hearts. Their flaming passion had ebbed as the years had gone on, but in its place there now resided a tenderness, a deep desire to be close to one another, always touching in some small way, as though they could see the years flying by faster than ever … as if, by being closer, they could slow the passing of time.

Charles pulled back the sheets and they climbed in. Elsie tucked her body in snugly next to him, resting her head on his shoulder as her fingers trailed across his chest.

"This is my favorite part of the day," he said softly.

Elsie giggled, the sound still so musical in his ears. "The part where you undress me?"

He moved his head back to look deep into her eyes, marveling at how the deep blue had become tinged with a soft grey as the years had passed, a color brought out by the beauty of her long, wavy tresses, which had gone all silver a few years ago.

"No," he answered seriously. "The part where I can hold you in my arms, and feel your heart beating against mine." He'd given up the pretense of not being sentimental long ago, and the smiles she had given him on every sentimental occasion since - like the one he was seeing at that very moment - had made it all worthwhile.

Within ten minutes, each of them had drifted off to sleep, lulled into pleasant dreams by the comfort of their closeness and feeling that now, perhaps more than ever before, they were finally getting to experience who they truly were meant to be: grandparents, parents, best friends, lovers; they were true soul mates, finally brought together in the most precious of all ways … by being a _family_.

 ** _You were standing all alone against the world outside_**

 ** _I was searching for a place to hide_**

 ** _Now I've found you, there's no more emptiness inside_**

 ** _When we're hungry, love will keep us alive._**

 ** _The End_**

* * *

 **I do hope you liked it. 3**


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